Antimagic
by Myricle
Summary: The war was won, but the Statute of Secrecy was shattered in the chaos. In Britain, open resistance against the Muggles resulted in brutal defeat, and magical folk retreated behind defensive charms. Four years later, only a handful of magical strongholds remain in Britain. Harry Potter is among the community taking refuge in Hogwarts as the Muggles draw ever closer…
1. Under Siege

**Full description:**

Voldemort was defeated, but the repercussions of the war made upholding the Statute of Secrecy impossible. Despite the best efforts of magical peacekeepers, wars broke out across the globe. In Britain, open resistance against the Muggles resulted in brutal defeat, and magical folk retreated behind their strongest charms and enchantments, praying that time would blunt the nation's fury. Four years later, only a handful of magical strongholds remain in Britain, and they're cut off from the rest of the world. Harry Potter, once a symbol of hope but now blamed by some as the cause of the destruction, is among the community taking refuge in Hogwarts as the Muggles draw ever closer…

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Under Siege**

Despite everything, it was a beautiful day. Harry squinted at the sunlight from his position atop the ramparts on the southern side of Hogwarts. Below him, zig-zagged stairs led down to the boathouse at the edge of the Black Lake, which sparkled in the sun. In the distance, Harry could faintly see cranes in the ruins of Hogsmeade, constructing towers and clearing rubble.

"What do you think they're building?" Ron asked quietly beside him. The lanky, red-haired young man nursed a mug of firewhisky in his hands as he leaned on the belly-high guard wall.

"Observation post," Harry replied, just as quietly. "They know we're here, even if they can't see us."

"Why bring the train, though?" Ron jerked his chin. Hogsmeade Station was only slightly closer to the castle, but still far enough to be cloaked in white mist. The outline of the Hogwarts Express was visible on the service tracks outside the station.

"Best guess? They're going to disassemble it in front of us. Try to force a reaction," Harry said tonelessly.

"Bastards," Ron spat. "Like they haven't taken enough."

Harry turned away from the lake and caught his reflection in a castle window behind him. He scratched his chin wearily.

His black hair was longer than the schoolboy cut he used to sport, now brushing against his shoulders and falling across his eyes in the wind. Harsh times had chiselled away the last of the baby fat on his cheeks, leaving a strong jaw peppered with a day's stubble. The only features that still connected him to those whimsical days in Hogwarts were his eyes: bright green and clear as ever.

Ron stayed behind, scowling across the lake and sipping his firewhisky. Harry descended back into the castle, hands in his pockets and not really looking where he was going. His feet knew the way, climbing the Grand Staircase automatically. There were still a few chunks missing from the moving staircases here and there that nobody had gotten around to fixing, but it was useable.

The portrait of the Fat Lady was propped up beside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. With so many refugees staying in the castle, it was impractical to continue using passwords. The Lady had insisted on continuing to watch over the entrance nonetheless, and it had become a polite gesture to ask for permission before entering.

"May I go in?" Harry asked, pausing at the threshold.

"Of course, dear," the Lady murmured, caught in a daydream.

Harry entered through the hole, which was far more strenuous now that he was fully-grown. A miniature shanty town greeted him. Sleeping bags, blankets and pillows lay about the common room, enough for about thirty people. The squashy armchairs were pushed to the side of the room along with the couches. Crimson still adorned the walls and curtains, but the beds and blankets came in many colours.

There was a couple sharing one of the armchairs beside the windows, staring out silently as they leaned on each other. Three sleeping bags were full, one of them snoring softly. Oliver Wood paced slowly in front of the fire, his expression strained. He looked up when Harry entered the room, and they exchanged nods before he resumed his pacing.

Harry entered the doorway that led up to the girl's dormitory. The rooms he passed were rarely closed these days. Unlike the cramped adult quarters in the common room, the dormitories retained their well-spaced four-poster beds. Said beds were empty at that moment – they were for current students, and school was in session.

The seventh year dormitory was relatively neat considering the house-elves rarely had time to clean these days. There was a lump under the sheets of the bed in the middle of the semi-circle they were arranged in. Harry stooped and quietly picked up a book from the floor, then tossed it underarm onto the lump.

"Arugh!" came the muffled response. A mop of dirty blonde hair rose from within the tangle of blankets. "Go away, Kate," groaned the mop.

"Get up, Zeller," Harry said flatly.

The mop started in surprised and launched herself out of bed. She was already wearing jeans and a shirt, so Harry figured she had tried to get ready for class in the morning, only to fall back asleep.

Rose Zeller was four years his junior, but when he saw her sheepish grin, it felt a hell of a lot longer. She'd only been in her third year when the Wizarding World was torn apart, and she hadn't left Hogwarts since. Her family hadn't been able to reach Hogwarts, and the last they'd heard, they were at the Ministry with many others.

 _Maybe that's why she bugs me so much. Too close to home._

Originally a Hufflepuff, Rose began sleeping in Gryffindor Tower when the boundaries between houses broke down, claiming she always loved the view. Harry knew it was because he spent more time in Gryffindor Tower than any other common room, and she relished in bugging him with questions.

"Hey, Professor," Rose said cheerfully.

"You missed class this morning," he said.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Were you planning to miss Muggle Studies, too? Professor Granger dislikes repeating herself." Harry knew _that_ was a lie. Hermione was a much more patient teacher than he was, even if his methods did get good results.

Even with Hogwarts full of refugees, it was decided that the children should still be educated. As the previous Muggle Studies teacher had been killed by Voldemort, Hermione stepped up to fill the gap, albeit with a far more urgent curriculum. The class was now about blending in and living among Muggles without drawing attention, along with studying Muggle weaponry and tactics.

Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed trivial in the face of recent events, but Harry had been coerced into teaching it anyway, if only to keep himself sane. The classes at least gave some structure to his days. Anything to break up the cycle of waking up, wondering if there would be more bad news today, then going to sleep.

Ginny hated it when he spoke like that. When Harry pointed out that a lot of people were grumbling similar things, she shook her head like he was dense and explained that he couldn't afford to show that kind of defeatist attitude. That people looked up to him.

It sure didn't feel that way.

"Heel," Harry grunted, turning to leave. Rose yanked on her robes and darted after him.

"What's up your butt, Professor?" she inquired. "You're a bit scowl-ier than usual today."

"The Muggles are building things in Hogsmeade," he said quietly once they were out of the common room. "They know where Hogwarts is, they just can't get any closer."

"So? It's been that way for ages. Professor Granger said the kind of environment adjustment needed to destabilise the castle's protective spells would probably cause a minor extinction event, whatever that means."

"Has she taught you that the Muggles easily have enough power to do just that?"

Rose went quiet and Harry cursed himself for being so blunt. Cheeky and confident she may be, but Rose was still less mature than most other seventeen year olds. She didn't like being reminded that the world wasn't as fun outside of Hogwarts as it was within. Not that life in Hogwarts was much fun for anyone but her these days.

The Great Hall yawned before them. The house table layout was long gone, replaced by six narrower long tables designed to fit an extra few hundred people on top of the students. It was rare that all rows were occupied simultaneously, as official meal times were only really applicable to students.

At the start, most refugees had set up their sleeping bags in the Great Hall for lack of a better option. But when the numbers grew and space became limited, the numbers were divided between common rooms and some empty classrooms. The Room of Requirement would have been helpful, but it was still repairing itself after suffering a dose of Fiendfyre four years earlier.

Harry spotted some bushy brown hair at the staff table and made a beeline for it. Hermione Granger was picking at a turkey sandwich with little interest. Ron was at her side eating a little more enthusiastically, apparently having gotten bored of glaring at distant Muggles.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said with a smile, glancing up. Ron grunted his hello.

"Hey, Hermione." Harry grabbed Rose's shoulder and pulled her out from behind him where she had been subtly trying to hide. "Zeller here was so embarrassed about missing her morning Defence class that she decided she wants to stick by your side until your class begins, just to guarantee she won't miss it."

"That's a great idea!" Hermione smiled brightly at Rose, who returned with a shaky grin.

"My academic success is important," said the little liar, "Especially in these troubled times."

Harry went to leave when Hermione stopped him. "Harry, I just remembered, Minerva would like to see you," she said. Even after four years, she couldn't say McGonagall's first name without it coming out strange. Harry had the same problem.

"Did it sound important?" Harry wanted nothing more than to get back to his office. It was that kind of day.

"She called me Granger without realising, so yes, it probably is."

That was worrying. McGonagall had adjusted to using their first names without a single hiccup. If she was distracted enough to forget…

Harry made for the Headmistress's office.

The various bedraggled groups he passed on the way there greeted him with varying degrees of warmth. Most knew that he hadn't known the war would lead to this, and that he was as surprised and as terrified as them when the Muggles organised against magical folk. But there were always a few who associated him with the fall of the Wizarding World. There were even those who muttered in dark corners that serving Voldemort would have been better than this.

In Harry's opinion, trading one terrible fate for another was hardly a constructive thought exercise. Nevertheless, he had the suspicion that, considering how dismissive of Muggles Voldemort had been, he probably would have suffered a similar fate, no matter his power. There were just so many Muggles, and their weapons were beyond lethal. Casting the Killing Curse required power, concentration, and the pure _will_ to end someone's life. Muggles just twitched their finger.

The worst part was that he could understand, somewhat, the fury that pervaded the Muggle population. They had suddenly discovered that the many unexplainable accidents that had stolen so many lives throughout the war had been the result of a secret population – one that had no qualms about manipulating and brainwashing them. It was the perfect catalyst – a whole category of people that could be targeted and blamed with impunity. Frustration and grief could be hurled at wizards and be called righteous. Blood could be spilled with no remorse. If a Muggle could connect a problem in their life to magic, they had the immediate support of all Muggles to do something about it.

There were other voices in the public dialogue, ones that discouraged undue violence, but the public attitude was such that they were forced to remain quiet for fear of being accused of collusion with magical forces. Not many people wanted to stand up for the losing side.

McGonagall greeted him with a tight-lipped nod when he entered her office. Her hair was more grey than black these days, and wrinkles lined her severe expression.

"What have I done this time, Professor?" Harry said dryly.

The comment would have ordinarily elicited a snappy retort, but this time she merely narrowed her eyes slightly. "Please sit down, Harry," she said.

Harry did so, pulling out the hard-backed chair before the Headmistress's desk. He glanced around the room – most of the portraits were sleeping, and Dumbledore's was empty. The former Headmaster had been invaluable in organising the influx of refugees, but he was only a memory. His words were all he had, and Harry no longer took as much comfort from them as he used to.

"I'm sure you have noticed the construction in Hogsmeade," said McGonagall. "And I'm equally sure you've extrapolated on what may come of it."

Harry nodded slowly. "They may copy the Norwegians. Their strategy proved effective in the end."

They had only heard bits and pieces of what happened two years ago. The Norwegian government had, during their own magic purge, discovered the rough location of the Durmstrang Institute, up in the north somewhere. The 'strategy' that led to Durmstrang's destruction involved carpet-bombing the area and looking for the swathe of land that remained untouched. Through this method, the Muggles established the limits of the Institute's protective enchantments, and were able to set up a perimeter. Seeing as only the Headmaster could Apparate within Durmstrang, most of the students, faculty, and refugees were trapped – much like Hogwarts was now. It was unclear what happened to everyone, but one message was clear from the few survivors that turned up in Britain: the castle was gone.

"Quite. There's nothing we can do to prevent the destruction of the surrounding countryside, but I want to be certain that our wards can withstand any barrage they bring against us." She took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes in a rare display of weakness. "Harry, I realise it may not be a comfortable thought, but if you still possess the Elder Wand, the extra power it would add to our protection would ease a lot of fears."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He'd been expecting this for a while. Could he really be blamed for not wanting Dumbledore's tomb disturbed again?

"Alright," was all he said.

Ginny intercepted him as he exited the large front doors and strode into the warm summer air. She flew down on his Firebolt and landed lightly beside him, George close behind her with a Quaffle under his arm. They looked like they had come from the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. From the red lining George's eyes, they hadn't just been playing.

The former twin slapped him on the back and continued inside the castle. Harry trudged across the grass, heading for the White Tomb on the shore of the Black Lake, and Ginny fell into step beside him. She didn't say anything, for which he was grateful. Sometimes her presence meant a lot more than comforting words.

Harry felt her questioning gaze on his back when he stepped up to the tomb and drew his wand.

"You'll see," he said, then waved his phoenix-feather wand and watched as the large marble slab slid to the side. For the second time in too many years since his death, Dumbledore's body was exposed to the world. Harry sighed and plucked the Elder Wand from beneath the white, wrinkled hands, unwilling to spend a single unnecessary second here. The Tomb was sealed once more, and Harry inspected the Elder Wand carefully.

Ginny gasped when she recognised it. "That's where you put it?"

Harry didn't answer, tapping the wand against his palm a couple of times.

"Do you think it will make a difference against them?" Ginny said in a quieter voice.

"It's not for combat. McGonagall asked me to strengthen our defences with it," Harry replied, still staring at the wand that so many had died for. If it came down to it, he was prepared to use the wand to break the Anti-Apparition Charm and let everyone scatter as far as they could. There was a chance a good number of the refugees could hide in the thousands of hamlets that littered the country. Harry had already decided he wouldn't be among them. If Hogwarts fell, he would stay behind and buy everyone some time to escape. That was that.

Of course, Ginny didn't know that. He'd probably have to stun her and send her off with Ron and Hermione and the other Weasleys. That was if he didn't have to stun them too.

He glanced up from the wand. "Who said you could use my broom?"

* * *

They arrived at Harry's quarters sometime in the afternoon. Ginny had stayed with him as he went around the school boundaries pouring power into the wards, feeling them strengthen and condense.

Harry lived in the same room Remus Lupin had once occupied when he was the DADA teacher. It was a decent-sized office, with a small bedchamber through a doorway behind the desk. The private bathroom next to the bedchamber was even smaller, consisting of only a toilet, sink, and cramped shower.

Some of Ginny's clothes were scattered around the bedchamber, and a respectable portion of her remaining makeup supplies surrounded the sink in the bathroom. Harry didn't mind. She spent every second day sleeping near her parents in the Gryffindor common room, so it was nice to have some reminders for when she was gone.

Ginny returned his Firebolt to the corner beside his trunk, and flopped on the bed. She patted the space beside her, and Harry shook his head.

"I should tell McGonagall I'm done." Harry turned to leave, and Ginny sat up to object, when the first explosion reached their ears.

* * *

 **Up next: Break Out**


	2. Break Out

**Chapter 2: Break Out**

Harry raced to the nearest ramparts, Ginny close behind him. Having just contributed to the wards, he could feel the disturbance somewhere to the north-west.

The smell of smoke met them when they burst out onto the northern ramparts. In the distance, a portion of the Black Forest outside of Hogwarts' grounds was burning, sending a huge column of smoke into the blue sky. It was beyond the wards, but close enough that trees that should have been flattened were fine. It would be easy to see where the edge of the wards were once the outer forest burned away.

It was a smart move, and Harry grinded his teeth at the simplicity. Muggles would only see a ruined old castle where Hogwarts was, but they were wise to that sort of thing now. They probably knew exactly where the castle was, but not where the protected region extended to. As the forest came so close to the castle, burning it down was the logical thing to do – any tree that remained unharmed was under the protection of wards.

"Oh, no," whispered Ginny, her hand over her mouth.

"Ginny," he began, but an eruption of flame in the sky above the forest fire cut him short. The sound hit them a moment later, though at this distance it was more of a sharp _crack_ than a thunderous _boom_.

Harry felt that one. It definitely hit the wards that time, and they had held easily. He'd learned a lot about Muggle munitions over the past couple of years, mainly through the terrified stories of refugees. These explosions were fairly large, but they could get much larger.

However, Harry also knew it would take time for the Muggles to realise they were going to need something harder. They tended to pound on wards with lower-level munitions, hoping to overpower through quantity. That wasn't how wards worked, though. Enough wizards casting at the wards could have broken them down before he added the strength of the Elder Wand, but physical projectiles were different. It didn't matter how many of them there were – they had to drastically change the environment around the wards to have any hope of breaking them.

"What was it? Artillery?" asked Hermione, jogging up beside them.

Harry gestured at a tiny black dot shooting across the sky. "Jet," he replied.

"I didn't even feel a ripple when it impacted the wards. They feel stronger now." Hermione eyed him curiously.

Harry flashed the Elder Wand briefly before stowing it inside his jacket. Hermione gasped. "That's what McGonagall wanted to talk to you about."

Harry nodded silently. He'd become less talkative over the past couple of years. These days, sometimes it felt as though there was nothing more to be said.

Another fireball revealed the curvature of the wards before it dissipated. Harry led the way back inside. If the Muggles switched to something heavier, he'd probably be the first to know. Until then, watching the fireworks wasn't going to help anyone.

The attacks continued through the day and into the night, peals of false thunder echoing in the darkness. Harry lay awake to the early hours, waiting for a shockwave beyond any other to reverberate through the castle. But none came. By the morning, the attack had stopped.

The air was tense as Harry met the Weasleys in the Great Hall. They had the edge of a table to themselves. A couple of metres separated them from the next family on the table, who Harry was surprised to see was the Malfoys. The hatchet between the two families may have been long buried, but they were far from friends.

As Harry sat beside Ginny, Draco met his eyes. There was no nod or gesture, but an understanding passed between them nonetheless. They looked away at the same time.

Breakfast was a simple affair, nothing like the vast swathes of food that appeared during Hogwarts' prime. There was no lack of food, of course, since the stores were regularly multiplied when they ran low. No, there was no supply problem when magic was around. The house-elves just had many more people to feed these days, and so the feasts became less lavish and more efficient.

"Rough night, Harry?" asked Arthur Weasley, nodding at Harry's unkempt hair.

"Or was that Ginny's doing?" George sniggered. Ron turned green beside him.

Harry ran a hand over his head, noticing for the first time how much was sticking up. He rapped himself on the head with his holly wand, and his hair went lank. It was far from tidy, but at least he didn't look like he'd been caught in a cyclone on the way to breakfast.

A lone owl flew in through the upper windows of the Hall. Conversation ceased as every eye in the room watched it land on the staff table in front of Professor McGonagall. There hadn't been mail for over a year now, and it hadn't arrived by owl for even longer. Muggles shot the poor birds on sight when they were spotted around suspected magical dwellings.

Harry noticed parts of the owl blending in with the background – a fading Disillusionment Charm. He exchanged looks with Ron and Ginny, and the latter pushed him to his feet. Hermione, reading the letter over McGonagall's shoulder, was already motioning to him to come up to the staff table. Whether it was because he was a teacher now, or something else, he wasn't sure.

Murmurs followed him, along with wide, hopeful eyes.

"It's from the Ministry," Hermione said quietly when he joined them. She was stroking the camouflaged owl gently. "And it had an invisible ink charm on it." A wise precaution.

McGonagall slid the letter over to Harry as he sat on her left. Her expression was pensive. Harry, aware of the entire Hall watching him, began to read.

 _To Whomever Resides Within Hogwarts Castle,_

 _I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, acting Minister for Magic._

Harry smiled slightly. "Kingsley's still alive," he muttered.

 _I am responsible for a large group of wizards, witches, and magical creatures currently taking refuge in the Ministry of Magic. If we had a secure method of communication, I would send you a list of every survivor so that you might assuage the fears of your own refugees. Alas, we no longer have such luxury. The Floo Network is extremely unstable due to the destruction of several key nodes by the Muggles. I must advise strongly against using it._

Harry grimaced. They knew that already. Nobody was going to dare using the Floo Network while there was a chance they'd arrive in a room with a dozen armed Muggles waiting for them.

 _However, that may cease to matter soon. The Muggles are working on destabilising the wards surrounding the Ministry in much the same way they destroyed Platform 9 ¾._

Harry stiffened upon reading that.

It only took one wizard saying too much to bring about the destruction of Platform 9¾. When Muggles know there's a concealed location nearby, they tear the area apart. It was unclear if they knew about the destabilisation of enchantments through major environment adjustments, or if they were just taking out their frustration. Either way, the Platform was destroyed with no casualties. The Muggles evacuated Kings Cross before the assault, and inadvertently saved the lives of many wizards and witches who had been planning to escape.

It was safe to say that wouldn't happen this time.

 _I understand you are likely in a similarly dangerous situation, and I wish I could offer the guidance and support of the Ministry, but we are in no position to offer help. In fact, I must beg for any assistance you are capable of providing._

 _I remember the end of the war. If Undesirable Number One is there, and his possessions are intact, then we would greatly value his counsel._

Harry looked up from the letter and met Hermione's eyes.

"No," she said.

"I have to," Harry replied calmly.

"Harry, we can't risk it. We can't risk you," Hermione said earnestly.

"They are _begging_ me to help them!" Harry hissed. Kingsley had been present during Harry's final duel with Voldemort. He must have remembered the conversation that had gripped everyone present that day. "They must want to strengthen their wards like we did yesterday. Hermione, if I can make it to the Ministry, thousands of lives could be spared!"

" _If_ is the operative word here, Harry! Muggles can detect magic with those devices now. You won't even get to London before they catch you."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Then I won't use magic."

They stared at each other, one set of eyes full of determination, and the other full of pleading. McGonagall placed a hand on either of their shoulders, snapping them out of the battle of wills. "This should be discussed with everyone," she said softly, before raising her chin to address the Hall.

"We have received a letter from the Ministry," she announced, and the murmurs intensified. "Kingsley Shacklebolt remains the acting Minister. He is looking after a great number of refugees, but was unable to provide a list of names. For those of you who are worried about absent loved ones, there is still hope."

Harry glanced at Rose Zeller sitting with her fellow seventh years. She looked down at her lap.

"However, I will not lie to you," McGonagall continued. "Their situation is as dire as ours – perhaps moreso. I was going to make this decision in private, with the other teachers, but I think everyone deserves a say in this." She motioned to Harry, who drew the Elder Wand for all to see. "Yesterday, Professor Potter reinforced our wards with the power of the Elder Wand – Dumbledore's wand," she added for clarification and those who hadn't witnessed the final duel.

"The wards are now strong enough to keep out all but the most devastating of Muggle weapons. The wand's presence here also means that in the event of a breach, it, and its master, would likely give many people a chance to escape that they would not normally have."

McGonagall took a breath and looked down at Kingsley's letter for a moment. "The Ministry and all who take refuge within it have no such protection. Their wards are strong, perhaps as strong as Hogwarts' normally are. But the Muggles have broken through strong wards before, and there are few avenues of escape left to the Ministry refugees."

"Professor Potter has offered to make the journey to London and reinforce their wards with the Elder Wand. Professor Granger believes he should remain here in case worse comes to worst, with reference to the dangerous nature of travelling among Muggles these days." McGonagall raised her hands to the crowded Hall, which was growing louder. "Are there any who wish to speak on this decision?"

"Harry," Ginny said furiously, already on her feet, "If you even _think_ about stepping outside those wards, I'll stun you and take the Wand myself!"

"There could be thousands of people at the Ministry," Harry replied. "I've already made my decision."

"Thank you for respecting the purpose of debate," McGonagall said dryly. "But it is not only your decision to make, Harry. We depend on the Elder Wand to help us escape if the wards are breached. It's the only thing strong enough to break the Anti-Apparition Charm."

"Harry, please," piped up a voice from near the front. Rose looked very small against the crowd of hundreds, but she put on a brave face as she addressed him. "My mum and dad are at the Ministry. If Miss Weasley won't let you take the Wand, then let me! I'm really good at Muggle Studies, I know how to behave around them!"

"Absolutely not," Harry, McGonagall, and Hermione replied at the same time.

"I'm not sending a student to do my dirty work," Harry said vehemently.

Hermione spared him an understanding look, but she raised her chin like she did when she was determined she was in the right. "We shouldn't remove the Elder Wand from Hogwarts, no matter its master. The Headmistress is correct in saying that without it, we would have little chance of surviving an assault by the Muggles if the wards break."

"But they won't break," said Harry. "At least not any time soon. They're the strongest wards in Britain now, maybe the world. Now is the perfect time to act – _before_ the Muggles realise they need more firepower. I can get to the Ministry, strengthen their wards, and then come back here before they realise anything is different."

"I know you were raised by Muggles, Harry, but it's been years since you lived among them," said Hermione. "What makes you think you'll make it past the first village – without magic, no less?"

"Behaving like a Muggle isn't something you just forget. They can't tell I'm magical if I don't use magic."

Hermione changed tactics. The Hall watched and listened intently; everyone was invested in the outcome. "If they discover the Elder Wand on you, they'll snap it without hesitation."

"They won't have any reason to search me. This is a risk worth taking, Hermione," Harry said earnestly. "Kingsley isn't stupid. He's probably considered both sides of this argument, and he's _asking anyway._ Right now, their need is greater than ours."

" _We_ still need protection here. We can't be left defenceless."

"You know me, Hermione. Do you think I would offer to leave if I thought the wards weren't strong enough to protect the people I love? You said it yourself – you didn't even feel a ripple from the attack last night. This is the window we needed to re-establish communication with the Ministry survivors. This is our chance to force a ceasefire through unyielding defence." Harry jabbed a finger at Hermione. "What was your long-term prediction again? The one you made a few weeks ago?"

Hermione's mouth twisted; she clearly didn't like having her own words used against her. "I said that if Hogwarts remains peacefully uncompromised over the coming years, public support for the anti-magic purge will likely wane, given the lack of magical incidents around which the leaders can focus public fury."

Harry nodded. "There's no indication that the Muggles even _can_ destabilise the wards now, no matter what they do. If I can give the same treatment to the Ministry, we could save thousands of lives."

There was silence as Harry and Hermione stared at each other, determined green eyes meeting cautious brown ones. The Great Hall was silent, as though the two of them were acting as proxies for everyone's opinion on the issue.

"Two weeks," Hermione said finally, her voice echoing down the tables through sheer acoustics. "The Elder Wand stays here for two more weeks, and if, in that time, there is no sign of the wards weakening, then we can seriously consider letting you go."

"Kingsley might not have two weeks. Even the time we're taking to discuss this might be time those people don't have," replied Harry, shaking his head. He felt the urge to _move_ , to _act,_ and help the people he had been woefully incapable of helping so far.

"If Kingsley considered both sides of this argument, then he has probably also considered that it would take time for help to reach him," Hermione said with the barest hint of satisfaction, and he knew she was using his own words against him as revenge for him doing the same. There was no malice between them, but even the best of friends could become heated in an important argument.

Harry ground his teeth. "One week."

Hermione cocked her head, eyes searching his, no doubt inwardly calculating the highest number of days he would agree to wait. "Ten days. We'll need to plan the journey, and you'll need to prepare."

Harry nodded reluctantly, stepping back and folding his arms, effectively ending the debate.

McGonagall addressed the Hall. "If there are any who wish to voice their opinion, or have a better solution to our dilemma, please speak now."

Surprisingly, nobody spoke. Harry supposed both he and Hermione had addressed the major points of contention, and what remained was seeing what came of it.

There was a smaller meeting in the Headmistress's office within minutes of breakfast ending. Harry, Ron, Hermione, the other Weasleys, and McGonagall stood in the circular room, despite the fact more than enough chairs had been waiting for them when they arrived.

Ginny clung to Harry's arm as though she was afraid he'd take off sprinting for the Ministry at any moment. He patted her hand reassuringly, but that only made her grip tighter.

McGonagall was the first to speak.

"I think it's best to act as though Harry _is_ going to leave for the Ministry in ten days, rather than waste time wondering if the wards will falter before then. If they do, then we will naturally need to readjust our priorities, and the journey will be discussed again in the light of any new knowledge acquired by analysing the extent of the disruption."

Nobody disagreed.

"Now, we must discuss the details of your potential journey, Harry. Hermione, I'm certain you've realised a number of problems we'll need to overcome, so feel free to share them with us."

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips for a moment. "There's the obvious fact that we have very little knowledge of Muggle force distribution. It's almost a certainty that every Muggle village, town, and city will be watching for magical activity, which means Harry will have only two options – avoid population centres and travel alone through the countryside, or blend in with the Muggles and learn how to go unnoticed in a crowd."

"The second one," said Harry. "I'll need to walk through London at some point. Probably shouldn't look like a cross-country hiker when I do."

"We'll also need to hide your wands somehow. It's just too dangerous to carry them in your pocket around Muggles. In fact . . ." Hermione chewed her lip hesitantly. "It may be better if you leave your wand here. We need you to make as little magical disturbance as possible, and two wands might have a better chance of setting off one of their devices than one." She winced. "You might want to stop using magic for anything, starting immediately, so you can get used to doing things manually."

Harry stared at his phoenix wand, which felt warm in his hand. After everything he'd been through, the wand was practically a part of him. But there was no part of him he wouldn't give to save someone else's life. He'd proven that once before.

Harry handed his wand to Ginny, who took it mutely. Harry could see the emotions behind the hard, blazing look she wore so well. Anxiety, fear for his safety, wondering whether the wand would soon be nothing more than a memento of her fallen boyfriend.

"Keep it safe," he said quietly. "I'll be back for it eventually."

Maybe it was stupid to make a promise like that, considering the danger of the coming journey, but he couldn't leave it unsaid. If he had implied, even through omission, that he might not return, Ginny would never let him go.

Hermione gave them both a sympathetic look before she continued. "The Elder Wand will need to be disguised entirely without magic – preferably something innocuous that a young Muggle might carry with him."

"We could do a Hagrid," said Ron, drawing a number of confused looks. "You know – put the wand inside an umbrella."

"That might work," Hermione nodded, sparing a fond glance for her boyfriend. "Though, I have to wonder . . ."

"What?" asked Harry.

"Maybe I should go with you. I was raised by Muggles as well, and it might look less suspicious if we pretend to be related and travelling together, rather than a lone man who scowls a lot."

Harry forced the omnipresent slight scowl to leave his expression. "And if we ended up near your parents' house, well, who could blame us for stopping by?" he replied softly.

Hermione looked down at her feet.

"I know you miss them," Harry continued gently, "But there's a chance the Muggles are watching families with magical members. If I get the chance, I'll walk down your street, but we have to focus on getting the Elder Wand to the Ministry."

"We also need to decide where exactly you are going to leave the wards, and where you're going to Apparate to from there," Hermione continued after a moment. "I would suggest going into the Forbidden Forest under a Disillusionment Charm, then immediately Apparating to someplace remote and far away."

Maps came out, Muggle-made and spanning all of the United Kingdom.

"How about the Forest of Dean?" said Harry, jabbing a finger at the forested area west of Gloucester.

Hermione nodded slowly. "That could work. From there, move south to Chepstow. I remember the train station there – the National Express goes straight to London. I'll give you the last of my Muggle money for supplies. I think I have around two hundred pounds left, so you should be able to buy food and a place to stay in London, as well as new clothes to disguise yourself with."

From there, a number of details were sorted out, though more often than not they came back to the same conclusion: Harry would just have to adapt to whatever he found out there. There was no guarantee that the England he'd grown up in was anything like the place he was about to travel through. Fortunately, he'd had a lifetime of training with worst-case scenarios.

"There is one more issue," said Hermione. "I think, over the next ten days, we all need to help you practice your wandless magic. Without easy access to a wand, you'll be incredibly vulnerable if your ability is discovered. It makes sense to have as many tricks up your sleeve as possible."

Hermione was true to her word. Every day for the next week and a half, Harry was drilled on wandless magic from the moment he finished breakfast to the moment he began dinner. With Ginny holding onto his wand and the Elder Wand now inside a black umbrella, he couldn't cheat even if wanted to.

When the entirety of a person's focus rests on one subject, they tend to learn quickly and retain much through constant revision. It was why working on the job made things easier to remember than just reading a book.

By the final day, Harry could perform a number of basic spells, if he concentrated hard enough, but complex magic remained beyond his reach.

"I'm impressed you've done as well as you have," Hermione confessed. "Most wizards never even bother with wandless magic because of how hard it is to learn, but you've made great progress in such a short amount of time."

"It's a shame it's only for emergencies," said Harry.

A few people came to see Harry near the end of the last day, as the reality sunk in that he would be taking the journey after all.

Mrs Weasley was the first, and she hugged him tightly the second she was in range. Wordlessly, she passed him a letter with _Percy_ written on it. Harry understood. Ginny's brother was likely among those at the Ministry – or at least, that's what everyone hoped. Bill and Charlie were missing too, as the latter was out of the country on business when everything happened, and the former's fate was likely tied to that of Gringotts. Harry didn't like thinking about that.

Next came Rose Zeller, predictably demanding to come along with him so she could find her parents. Harry predictably denied her request, but offered to take a letter. She stormed off without replying.

A couple of other families came to him, providing lists of names. Harry knew they could be more incriminating than a wand, if he were caught with them, but he didn't have the heart to say no.

The bombings continued each day, pounding on the wards as effectively as a child pounding on a steel wall. Ginny stopped sleeping near her family every second day, instead spending each night in Harry's arms, the desire for closeness fuelled by growing tension as the day of his departure approached.

They made love every night to the sounds of distant explosions and shrieking jets.

* * *

The time had come.

Harry dressed in his most ordinary clothes, jeans, a dark blue T-shirt that was a little too small for him, and a dark jacket. His hair was kept long, falling to his shoulders and covering his scar.

All of his magic possessions would remain behind. A simple rucksack, filled with spare clothes, the letters and lists, and Hermione's money, was all he had with him.

That, and a travel umbrella, which was wrapped up tightly and strapped to the side of the rucksack. The Elder Wand wouldn't be much help until he reached the Ministry, so it needed to look as innocuous as possible.

A few people came to wish him luck during breakfast, though their emotions were as subdued. The air tasted of uncertainty. People wanted to believe he was going off to save their missing loved ones, but many couldn't shake the feeling they were throwing their number one defender to the wolves.

A small party of people gathered near the edge of the ward in an unburnt section of the Forbidden Forest. It was night, and a few wands were lit.

Harry clasped hands with Ron, who pulled him into a gruff hug. "Do your thing, mate," the redhead whispered. Harry tightened his grip on his best friend before pulling away.

Hermione was next, clearly struggling to control her emotions as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Trust your instincts," she said quietly. "Don't draw attention. Stay in the crowd, learn the social environment . . ." She sniffed. "Come back."

"I will," Harry promised. They separated, and Hermione buried her face in Ron's shoulder, who patted her back gently.

Mrs Weasley just held him firmly, an oddly determined look on her face. Harry appreciated the lack of waterworks, he wasn't sure he could handle it.

Aberforth Dumbledore had come to see him off as well. They shook hands, and the older man gave Harry a respectful nod.

"You're not going to tell me I'm on a fool's errand?" Harry joked.

Aberforth smiled tightly. "Your last one ended better than I thought it would. Maybe this will too."

And then there was Ginny.

She didn't cry, or hug him, or whisper demands that he come back alive. She turned his wand between her fingers, and lowered it to rest over her stomach.

"Save them," she said harshly.

Harry blinked, but then realised they'd said everything that needed to be said over the past several nights. He met her hard expression with a smile, and her eyes melted.

"Just keep that wand safe. I don't want to have to repair it again," he said, turning away.

The boundary of the wards was invisible when nothing was hitting it, but Harry could feel it through the magic he'd poured into it.

He stepped through without a second thought, then turned on the spot and Apparated.

Pain ripped through his leg as he twisted through space, and when he arrived in a darkened forest, he fell to the ground with a howl of agony.

* * *

 **Up next: Among Killers**

 **Let me know what you think so far!**

 **I have the next few chapters done as a buffer, so if people like it, I'll post the next one early.**


	3. Among Killers

**Chapter 3: Among Killers**

The pain was so shocking, Harry had no capacity to take in his surroundings. He looked down at his left leg, which was splattered with blood and torn flesh, and nearly vomited. Something had clipped the back of his calf and torn open a raw trench of muscle.

His hand went to his pocket, but there was no wand waiting for it. His pulse was racing, and his hands were beginning to shake, and Harry knew if he didn't find a solution quickly he soon wouldn't be able to think straight at all.

The umbrella was still attached to the rucksack on his back, and he desperately ripped it free, wielding it like a huge, blunt wand.

The first, most important healing spell struck his leg, dampening his pain. It was difficult to force magic through the tightly wrapped travel umbrella, but the Wand within responded.

With less pain, his mind cleared, and he took control of his breathing.

Next, he stopped the bleeding. The flow of blood trickling into the dirt slowed to a halt, scabbing over in a matter of seconds.

Finally, he tried to heal the wound completely, but couldn't manage the dexterity with such a blunt instrument. The best he could do was make skin grow over the wound.

Harry's brain came out of panic mode, and even though the wound was still painful and the muscle still damaged, he was able to form critical thoughts once more.

There had been a trap set just outside the wards of Hogwarts. Muggles had probably surrounded the perimeter with traps and explosives, ready to snare any magical folk trying to slip away. It was horrible, brutal, and unfortunately effective. If Harry hadn't been Apparating at the time, he probably would have caught the full force of whatever explosive he'd activated.

Harry got to his feet and nearly went straight back down. He could barely put any weight on his left leg, giving him a noticeable limp. With only an umbrella to use as a focus, Harry couldn't heal the wound well enough to regain his stride.

He was about to take the umbrella apart and withdraw the Elder Wand, when sirens started howling in the distance. Gunshots rang out in the night, and Harry stumbled away from them, strapping the umbrella back to the rucksack.

He hobbled through the forest as quickly as he could, his mind racing. The Muggles couldn't possibly know he was there. It just wasn't possible. Unless . . . if the Muggles could detect magic in close proximity through their devices, could they have found a way to detect it anywhere in the country?

 _No. That can't be possible._

More shots, and shouting voices joined them. Harry moved as swiftly as he could, but not even the healing spells could keep him from grunting in pain with each step.

Something shifted under his feet, and Harry tripped over again. The wound opened up once more, and hot blood rolled out of the tear in his jeans. Harry yanked off his rucksack and fumbled for the umbrella again.

It was an old bit of rope that had tripped him up. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see the remains of an old campfire, as well as a log where people had once sat.

Harry worked quickly, moving and thinking at the same time. He wandlessly set fire to the remaining sticks and logs in the old campfire, and rolled his jeans up to inspect the wound in the light.

More shots, and something big crashed through the woods around him.

"Oi! Stay right the fuck there, you hear me?" roared a Muggle as he came jogging out of the forest, a gun raised to his shoulder.

Harry froze in place. "I'm unarmed!" he called back.

"Shut it!" The Muggle approached Harry slowly, but his eyes were roving around the campsite. He grabbed a radio from a pocket on his chest. "How fast do they change back to human?" he asked quietly, but he was panting hard enough that Harry could hear him just fine.

A voice on the radio replied, "They don't, not until sunrise."

The Muggle, who was wearing dark clothes and shooting gloves, eyed Harry suspiciously. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Harry," said Harry. "Who are you?"

The Muggle looked a bit surprised. "This isn't a meet and greet. What are you doing here?"

Harry eyed the campfire. "I _was_ spending the night out in the wild. Then something clipped my leg, and now I'm probably gonna bleed to death out in the wild."

The Muggle hissed into his radio. "You _sure_ they can't turn back into humans before sunrise?"

"Yes," replied the radio.

"Mate, you chose the wrong night to count stars. There's a werewolf in this forest," said the Muggle, lowering his gun slightly.

Harry glanced around, now thoroughly certain he was out of depth. He had absolutely no hope of beating a werewolf while his only weapon was stuck inside an umbrella, and drawing it meant that the Muggle would probably shoot him without hesitation.

"You're shitting me," said Harry. He didn't have to try too hard to feign the fear in his voice.

That seemed to reassure the Muggle somewhat, as he began pointing the gun at the trees instead of at Harry.

"We've been tracking this guy for three weeks. He doesn't have a wand or he'd teleport away, so we just have to dog him down the old-fashioned way."

"Jesus," said Harry. "Listen, my leg – I don't think I can run if it comes here."

A look of painful guilt passed over the Muggle's rough features. "I think – I think maybe a stray round clipped you. Might have been from me or my partner."

Harry grit his teeth in pain. "I don't see anyone else shooting out here tonight."

The Muggle looked conflicted, then shook his head. "Fuck. You look alright. Let me see what I can do." He walked over to Harry, who kept his hands visible, and withdrew a small first aid box from his backpack.

"So you thought I was the werewolf?" asked Harry to distract himself from the pain.

"Yeah. Can't blame me for that, can you? I mean, who knows what crazy shit is possible with magic. Can't blame a guy for double-checking the rules." The man poured some disinfectant onto the wound and began wrapping it in gauze. Now illuminated by the fire, he had the appearance of a man in his early thirties, with smile lines at the corners of the eyes, and blonde hair that was starting to thin out. "I'm Blake, by the way."

"It's a fucking pleasure," Harry growled, jamming his eyes shut as pulse after pulse of pain roared through his leg.

Blake chuckled. "Thought you might've been magical when I first saw you. Remember that story a couple weeks ago where they found that whole cave full of magic people in the middle of a forest?"

Harry shook his head without thinking. "No."

"Good, because I just made it up," Blake said happily. "Reckon if you were magical, you'd have said yes."

"I'd think the fact that I'm not using magic to heal my bloody leg would be a pretty big giveaway too," Harry said hoarsely as the bandages were tied off.

"That too."

Trees crashed, and a misshapen four-legged beast scrambled into the campsite. Harry grabbed a branch from the fire and tried to swing it around to ward off the creature, but the wood was brittle, and it fell to pieces after a single swing, scattering sparks into the dirt.

Blake's rifle thundered, the sound of the shot rippling through Harry's marrow. The werewolf recoiled in a spray of blood, then skittered off into the forest. Blake fired twice more, and a distant howl of pain suggested at least one of the shots was on target.

"Tagged it twice," Blake growled into his radio. "It's heading north, bleeding bad."

"Let it go," advised the radio. "He can't heal himself now, and he won't be able to go far. We'll come back in the daylight and pick up the trail. I'd rather not push that thing into a corner in the middle of the night."

"Roger that. Listen, I found a kid who was camping out here, and he got hit by a stray round. He's not in danger or anything, but it clipped the back of his leg."

"Bloody hell, Blake," admonished the radio.

"Hey, you were shooting too. What do we do?"

"Get him to the truck. I can treat him at home, and if we can convince him not to go to the hospital, we might avoid the whole legal thing."

Blake looked a bit awkward as he noticed Harry listening. "Uh, right." He let go of the radio. "Listen – Harry, was it?"

Harry nodded.

"We don't really have the funds for a lawsuit right now, so how about we fix you up and give you what we can, and we forget this ever happened, eh?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd rather have a medical professional look at this," said Harry.

Blake nodded hurriedly. "My partner, she's a doctor. Got a degree and everything."

Harry went to stand, and was forced to lean on Blake's shoulder. "Actually," Harry said, gritting his teeth, "I've decided I'm not picky. If you two have painkillers back at your place, then that's where I want to be."

"Not a problem. Let me get your stuff." Blake bent to pick up Harry's rucksack and umbrella, then helped Harry hobble through the forest.

"No tent?" said Blake.

"Don't own one. Figured I'd just rug up and use my bag as a pillow."

"Good way to get eaten by insects. Not an experienced camper, then?"

Harry swallowed the urge to cry out as his foot smacked into a thick root, sending a bolt of pain up his leg. "I liked the concept. It was pretty peaceful until I got shot."

Blake chuckled sheepishly.

After a painful fifteen minutes of assisted walking, interspersed with moments of silent fear as branches cracked somewhere in the distance, they reached the edge of the forest.

A pickup truck, shining silver in the moonlight, was waiting for them, its headlights casting blades of light through the trees. A woman stood on the bed wearing the same dark clothes as Blake. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and bulky night vision goggles covered her eyes. She had a rifle too, though hers had a larger scope on it and was resting on a bipod on the roof of the cabin.

Blake raised a hand in greeting, and the woman returned it. She didn't stop scanning the forest for more than a second.

"You good, kid?" she called down as Blake helped Harry into the passenger seat. "Light-headed? Lucid?"

"Having the time of my life," grunted Harry, jarring his leg on the side of the door as he positioned himself.

"I wrapped him up myself," said Blake defensively, stowing his rifle in the back seat.

"You'd wrap gauze around a tumour, if you could. Doesn't mean he's alright." The woman hopped down from the rear of the truck and climbed into the back seat. Blake turned the truck around, and they were soon rumbling down a gentle slope towards distant lights.

"Janine," said the woman, taking off the night vision goggles and reaching forward to shake Harry's hand.

"Harry," he growled.

"Feel free to swear," said Janine. "Studies have shown that swearing and yelling can help people deal with pain."

"You don't fucking say?"

"That's the spirit. I have meds at home that will take the edge off, and I'll re-do your bandages as well."

"If I don't tell anyone you guys shot me."

Blake and Janine exchanged a glance.

"Look, kid, going after magic monsters is a dangerous gig," said Janine, letting her dark hair out from the bun so that it fell over her shoulders. "Could be, if we weren't there, you would've been chewed up by that werewolf. Or maybe you would've had a peaceful night jerking off in the woods, or whatever you were doing. Point is, we're just trying to do the right thing by you without getting lawyers involved."

Harry suppressed another gasp. "Painkillers first, negotiations later."

The truck rocked and bumped violently on the uneven terrain, and when it finally hit the road it felt like they were gliding on a cloud.

Streetlights soon surrounded them, and the occasional car passed in the opposite direction. Harry had no idea where he was or where he was going, but he kept his mouth shut. His departure from Hogwarts had gone better and worse than he'd expected, but there was no time to relax. He was in the midst of people who would kill him if they thought he was magical.

The truck pulled up to a small chapel that radiated light even as darkness claimed every other building on the street. Blake and Janine both helped Harry through the front door and down a short aisle, complete with wooden pews and a long red carpet and everything. In the back half of the building, there was a home, with a kitchen, living room, and some other doors that were closed.

Janine led the way into one of the closed rooms, where a fairly well-stocked mini doctor's office awaited. Following sharp instructions, Harry climbed onto the patient's bed, face down, and allowed Janine to unwrap and inspect his wound.

"Pity we don't have any more Essence of Dittany," she murmured.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "What's that?"

"One of those magical potions. Helps with wounds like this."

"You use that stuff?"

Janine sniffed. "I'm a practical person. Magical people and creatures need to be weeded out, but there's no reason we can't make use of their inventions. There was a scandal about it a year ago that says most politicians agree with me, too. Their staff doctors have started keeping magical cures in stock, just in case."

She prodded his wound and he arched his back in pain. "Tell you what," he gasped, "If you have some potion that'll fix this, go right ahead."

Janine laughed softly. "Everyone's a bigot until they need what magic has to offer. I wish people could be more . . . pragmatic."

"If only everyone were level-headed enough to go hunting werewolves in a forest at night," Harry agreed.

Blake laughed from the other room, and Janine sighed. "He's turned six people so far. The bounty on him will get us through the rest of summer, but only if we can bring him back while transformed. Hopefully Blake managed to wound him badly enough to put him down before the sun rises."

Blake entered the room and passed Harry a glass of something strong. Harry downed it without thinking.

Janine hissed. "You idiot. Now I can't give you painkillers."

"Just give him some local. He'll be right." Blake leaned against the wall, sipping his own drink.

A short prick later, Harry's wound stopped pulsing with pain, and he exhaled in relief.

"I've done what I can," said Janine a while later. "It looks like the muscle wasn't as badly damaged as it seemed. You'll be off your feet for a few days, but I think you'll be alright after that."

"Do you have any family who should know?" said Blake. "Preferably ones that don't have lawyers?"

"Not really," Harry shook his head. "I was going to London to meet some friends tomorrow, though. Mostly I just do things for myself."

"Young men," Janine sighed. "Well, you're not going to London on that leg. How do you feel about staying here a couple of days?"

Harry knew he should be trying to get to London as fast as possible, but here was a chance to re-learn Muggle society. He couldn't turn it down.

"You're the doctor. Whatever keeps my leg from falling off sounds good to me," he replied.

Janine nodded. "Blake, help me get him to the sofa."

Soon, Harry was in the living room, his leg elevated on a chair brought in from the kitchen. The home-within-a-chapel was small, but definitely loved. The TV cabinet in front of the sofa had framed pictures of Blake and Janine, and the bookshelf in the corner was clearly divided into two sections, one full of reference books, the other full of car magazines.

"So who lives in a chapel these days?" he asked when Janine brought him some toast.

"With the number of monsters running loose these days, who wouldn't?" she replied, pointing at a cross on the wall. "Whatever might keep the magic out works for me. There's no telling how many superstitions actually have merit."

Harry didn't think a cross could keep anything out, but he couldn't just say so. He ate, and slept, and when he woke, light was shining through the glass back door, illuminating the marmalade-coloured rug and cream sofa. Harry's rucksack sat on the floor beside him, the umbrella still firmly attached to it.

There were faint clinking sounds from the kitchen, where Blake and Janine were probably having breakfast.

A newspaper lay on a side table beside the sofa, and he picked it up curiously. A bold headline shouted at him from above unmoving pictures of serious-looking men.

 **SOMBER ASSURES MAGIC-FREE BRITAIN BY 2010**

 _Antimagic Enforcement Group Chief James Somber has once again come to the Prime Minister's rescue by making the bold prediction of eliminating all magic from Britain by 2010. The PM's recent gaffe about magical people being 'as indestructible as cockroaches' had cast doubt on the magic removal effort, but Somber's guarantee is sure to put many minds at ease._

" _We have already made excellent progress," Somber said this morning at a press conference in Birmingham. "Every day, we get better at detecting those who use magic, and I am confident when I say there are only two remaining magical strongholds left in Britain. Our operations at King's Cross Station and Charing Cross Road have denied remaining wizards any hope of refuge. This strategy of removing their safe-houses and forcing them into the light has proven effective time and time again, and we will continue to press our advantage to the best of our ability."_

Harry swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He'd already known how bad the Muggles could be to wizards, but he'd never expected such open bloodlust on the front page. It also revealed that Diagon Alley was no more, though he'd suspected that for a while.

He forced himself to read a few more stories in an effort to soak up as much Muggle knowledge as he could. There were more stories about wizard holdouts getting raided, or new deadly magical creatures on the loose somewhere, but what shook him most of all was how many stories _weren't_ about magic. There were gossip columns, celebrity news, health scares, football stories, and dozens of lifestyle guides.

For Harry and everyone in Hogwarts, survival was all that they knew. Out here, the war against magic was just another news item – something to be glanced at and monitored from week to week, but not really any different from a distant conflict. Harry didn't know why he'd thought, after four years, Muggles would still be obsessed with magic. They'd proven for years how happy they were to remain ignorant, and now that the original buzz had died down, it looked as though people had just accepted it and moved on.

It was disgusting.

Blake popped his head in just as Harry put the paper down. "Harry, you still good? We need to go looking for that werewolf, but we'll be back in a few hours. Shouldn't take long to find the trail."

Harry nodded. "I'm fine." Blake must have mistaken his barely-concealed anger for barely-concealed pain, because Janine was in a few minutes later to provide some painkillers that put him in a daze for most of the day. He got up to stretch his leg a few times, and debated using the umbrella to speed up the healing, but in the end decided not to risk it. Blake and Janine seemed pretty prepared, and he had no idea if they owned a magic-sensing device.

While they were out, Harry wandered around their home, using some crutches provided by Janine. The other doors led to a laundry room, a bedroom, and a linen cupboard. He felt awkward looking around someone else's home, but all the better to learn about the nature of his hosts.

The lack of anti-magic posters was encouraging, but he couldn't shake off the memory of Janine's casual words last night.

 _Magical people and creatures need to be weeded out._

He was behind enemy lines, and he couldn't forget it for a second.

Somehow, he ended up in the front half of the building again, the little chapel with four rows of pews and a path down the middle. A modest podium stood where a priest might address his flock, and a hard-backed bible sat there, ready to be opened. Harry ignored it. A clock ticked softly behind the podium.

He tottered down the long red carpet and spotted something lying on one of the pews. It was another newspaper, this one much older than the one he'd read that morning.

 **LONDON LOCKDOWN: WIZARD STRONGHOLD SUSPECTED BENEATH WHITEHALL**

 _In another shocking revelation, Antimagic Enforcement Group Chief James Somber has confirmed there is a large magical structure hidden beneath Whitehall Road._

" _From information gathered in various raids on wizard dwellings, we have been able to deduce the location of a major magical stronghold," Somber told the press this morning. "It is believed that this structure is the headquarters of the magical 'government' in Britain, and is therefore a high priority target. This will require the relocation of all offices located on Whitehall Road."_

 _When asked if the operation will entail dropping bombs inside London, Somber was surprisingly candid. "This structure represents more than just another few dead wizards. If it truly is the core of their government, this could shatter all remaining resistance. We will do what is necessary to ensure that happens."_

Harry threw the paper back down on the pew, his heart racing, fury making his muscles tense even through the pain. James Somber was quickly becoming the focus for his frustration, proving an apt personification of everything he hated about Muggles these days.

And yet, he could already hear Hermione's voice in his head, telling him to control himself before accidental magic broke every window in the chapel.

 _Somber is_ failing _,_ Harry reminded himself. _And I'm going to make sure he_ keeps _failing._

He just had to get the Elder Wand to the Ministry, and 'what is necessary' would no longer be enough.

* * *

Harry was flicking through channels on the television for the first time in years when the truck pulled up in front of the chapel again. His leg was back up on the chair, and the pain was making a solid comeback.

He stopped on a channel with men in lab coats examining an array of wands and enchanted devices. A deep-voiced narrator spoke as they worked.

"In an effort to explain the apparently unexplainable, scientists have theorised that what we call 'magic' is in fact a fifth force that governs how particles interact. In such a model, we would see magic working alongside gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces. Given that magic seems to utterly disregard the constraints of physics, it is certain that our current theories are largely incomplete, and in need of total revision. Whether magic is a force that supersedes all other forces, or whether our understanding of the boundaries of reality was flawed from the start, remains to be seen."

"Interesting stuff, don't you think?" said Janine from the doorway. She was letting her dark hair down again, and her narrow face and intent eyes were focused on the TV. Blake was unloading something from the truck, by the sounds of it.

"To be honest I keep expecting someone to jump out and explain how it's all an elaborate hoax," said Harry. He wished that would happen. Sometimes he dreamt it was so.

Janine scoffed. "Don't be childish. It's always better to know the truth than to be ignorant. I'm glad we discovered magic, even if it did make things more difficult." She thought for a second. "No, actually, I don't think it did make anything more difficult. It just revealed to us a danger that we were previously unaware of. Knowledge is anathema to fear. And now look at us. We spent hundreds of years getting eaten by werewolves without even realising it, and now we gun them down for cash."

"That reminds me. You said you had been tracking the werewolf for weeks, but you live right next to where it was."

"We started further to the west," explained Janine. "It was a nice surprise for us when we found it so close to home. Nothing better than sleeping in your own bed." She eyed him curiously. "And where are you from, Harry?"

"Up north," he replied, waving a hand vaguely. "Took off the second I became an adult."

Janine nodded in understanding. "I did the same, about fifteen years ago. Had to break those shackles before I could make sense of my life. Ended up inheriting a small fortune, used it to put myself through med school. Good fun."

"Yeah, I've heard it's a real adrenaline rush," said Harry. Blake laughed loudly from the kitchen.

"Want to see a corpse?" asked Janine.

"Alright," Harry said slowly.

Janine helped him up into his crutches, and led him through to the medical office he had occupied the night before. On a foldout table in the middle of the room, a huge, hairy, stinking form lay perfectly still. Harry didn't bother hiding his revulsion.

"We got lucky," said Blake. "Fucker must have died right before sunrise." He gestured at one of the creature's legs, which had lost its fur and had a layer of pink skin on it, frozen in the middle of a transformation it would never complete.

"This is . . . disgusting," Harry breathed. Horrifying was a better word, but he had a cover to maintain.

Janine shrugged and pulled on some plastic gloves. "This is science. Say, hypothetically, would it be cannibalism if we ate it? Or only if we ate the bits that had turned back into human?"

"A human is a human in any form," Harry choked out over the smell. "You wouldn't eat a person just because they've been ground into a fine powder, would you?"

"I suppose," said Janine, though she didn't seem satisfied with his answer. "Now, I must begin the dissection. Please leave me to concentrate."

"Why are you performing an autopsy? You know how he died."

Blake helped Harry back to the sofa in the living room. "Because the parts sell for more than the whole. Werewolf heart, werewolf eyes, werewolf skin, they're all ingredients for potions, and right now the government has a secret premium on them. Gotta control all the miracle potions, you see?"

"So you sell organs to the government?" Harry said thickly.

"Only magical creature ones. And really, they're gonna get exterminated anyway, so we might as well make a few quid on the side."

Harry's recovery progressed quickly over the next few days. At one point, he was out the front of the chapel sitting on a lawn chair, watching Blake clean the truck. Janine was sitting in another chair nearby, cleaning one of the rifles.

A black armoured truck rolled slowly down the street, catching Harry's attention. On the side, emblazoned in white, angular letters, was **A.E.G.**

 _Antimagic Enforcement Group._

Harry's mouth went dry, and he watched the truck pass without breathing. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the people in the truck from killing him if they detected his magic.

Blake noticed him staring as the truck drove away. "Bout time we had one come past here. Always puts my nerves at ease when I'm near one of those things, knowing there's no magic bullshit nearby."

So the truck contained a device that detected magic. Harry took a risk.

"I've always wondered how they work," he said. "I thought magic was intangible, for the most part."

Janine gave a long-suffering sigh. "Open a book sometime, kid."

Blake winked at him. "It's a very delicate, very fine machine with thousands of redundant, complicated circuits running constantly within a sealed case. Ambient magic causes some of the circuits to falter, setting off the alarm. The device is designed to be reset and used over and over again, until all the circuits have been shorted out. It takes a lot of exposure to magic to reach that stage, though, so most of them have expected lifecycles of more than five years."

Harry had little understanding of circuits, but the core idea was simple enough. Magic interfered with complicated electrical devices, so they made one that can _only_ be interfered with by magic, and hooked it up to an alarm.

A week after Harry was wounded, he was able to walk without crutches. Janine's expert care, coupled with the little bit of healing magic he'd used on the day got the wound, meant that his recovery was hastened considerably. He still had a bit of a limp, and it hurt to stand up for too long, but he decided he couldn't afford to wait any longer.

Over the week, he'd watched a lot of TV and read every newspaper he could get his hands on back to back. He felt reasonably certain he could carry a conversation on current events, as long as it didn't involve celebrities. He'd also kept track of train timetables and local stores at which he could buy another change of clothes.

They were eating breakfast at the tiny kitchen table when Harry brought up his imminent departure.

"Sure your leg is up to it?" asked Blake in between mouthfuls of scrambled egg.

Harry nodded. "It's getting better each day."

"We can give you a lift to the train station, if you want."

"That would be great, thanks."

After breakfast, Harry packed what few things he had and waited in the chapel for Blake to get ready to take him to the train station. The pew was hard wood beneath him, covered in a thin layer of dust. Harry supposed the chapel didn't have much a flock without a priest to lead it. Two werewolf hunters probably couldn't provide the same spiritual reassurance.

Janine walked into the chapel from the house end of the building and kneeled on the pew in front of Harry's so she was facing him.

"There's something I've been wondering about," she said quietly, her gaze direct as always. "Blake said he found you at an old campsite with a fire going."

Harry felt a stone drop into his stomach. "Yeah."

"How did you start it?"

The ticking of the clock on the wall was far too loud. Harry felt a bit hot, and his hands began to sweat. "I used a couple of sticks," he replied.

"Really?" Janine's eyes didn't blink, didn't flinch. They bored into him like drills of ice. "I've always been curious about how to make a fire like that. Could you demonstrate for me? There are plenty of dry sticks in the yard."

"Seems like something you could've looked up on the Internet at any time."

"Yes, but there's just no substitute for seeing it done in person."

Silence fell across the room.

"What are you getting at?" Harry asked quietly.

"Your pupils have contracted considerably since this conversation began," Janine said, equally quietly. "Your breathing has become shallower. You've hunched your shoulders slightly, a defensive stance. You're feeling persecuted."

"You think I can't see what you're implying? Who wouldn't feel persecuted?"

Janine cocked her head slightly, an owl studying a mouse. "Then it seems like the best way for you to free yourself of such persecution is to make a fire with a couple of sticks."

"I'm about to leave, and you choose now to insult me like this?"

"You seemed harmless enough. I wanted to see what you'd do. You're . . . interesting. But now I'm afraid you're going to need to prove to me that my hypothesis is wrong."

The front door of the chapel opened, and Blake stepped inside. He was carrying his rifle, though it wasn't pointed at Harry yet.

"What the hell, Blake?" said Harry, his pulse quickening.

The man rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Look, kid, I didn't think you were anything too weird. That's why I helped you. But Janine's . . . well, she's thorough. It's just easier to go along with it if she has a hunch about something."

"So, what, you're going to put a gun to my head while I kneel in your garden and rub sticks together? This is insane."

Blake looked increasingly awkward, shifting his grip on the rifle. "Jan?" he said questioningly.

Janine showed no such reticence. "Shall we take this outside?"

Harry rose to his feet slowly, and Janine revealed the combat knife she'd been holding out of sight. The rucksack and umbrella remained on the pew. He walked very, very carefully down the aisle and out into the front yard of the chapel.

On either side of the short path that led to the sidewalk, there was a patch of grass the size of a driveway. On the left, the truck was parked, and on the right, there were a few metres of soil and half-dead bushes.

Blake took up a position beside his truck, leaning on the door and casually examining his rifle. Janine escorted Harry to the patch of soil and bushes, where, as promised, there were a number of flammable sticks waiting for a skilled camper to make use of them.

But Harry had never gone camping in his life, unless he counted the Horcrux hunt or the Quidditch World Cup, and both times he'd had access to magic. He had no idea how to even _fake_ making a fire the Muggle way.

"You're both psychos, you know that?" he said loudly.

"It takes a special kind of person to hunt werewolves," Blake called apologetically.

Harry reached for some sticks, his mind blank of any plan, when Janine hissed, "Wait."

He froze, expecting a knife to touch his throat, but instead he just heard the sound of engines approaching.

 _You have got to be kidding me._

The Antimagic Enforcement Group truck was coming down the road. The overcast sky matched Harry's growing trepidation, and now it seemed he couldn't even use magic to fight without bringing pain down on his head. Not that he was capable of much wandless combat magic.

"Alright, now do it," Janine said fervently as the truck came closer. "This is excellent. Perfect experiment control. No way for magical trickery to interfere. Make the fire."

The black armoured truck was only a house away when Harry felt something snap.

He had the choice of getting shot by Blake, stabbed by Janine, or swarmed by the men in the AEG truck. And if all choices resulted in death, then he didn't really have a choice at all.

In the seconds he had left, Harry evaluated which threats were the most important. The knife was closest, so he had to get rid of it first. Next came the rifle, and Harry had a hunch that it wouldn't fire if Janine was anywhere near Harry. After that, came the truck, and the armed men that were likely inside.

It was a stupid, desperate plan, but it was all he had. The Elder Wand might as well have still been back at Hogwarts for all the good it could do him right now – it was still inside the umbrella, sitting on a pew beside his rucksack. His only weapon was his wandless magic, and he only knew the most basic spells.

Everything happened in the space of about five seconds.

Harry's head snapped right to stare at the knife held at Janine's side, out of view of the street.

 _Wingardium Leviosa!_

Janine thrust her hand forward, aiming for Harry's neck, responding to the sudden movement. But her hand was empty, and the phantom blade passed through him harmlessly. The knife hung in the air behind her head, before curving down to rest against her neck. She froze in place, but her eyes gleamed in triumph.

"Move between me and Blake," Harry ordered quietly, and she did as he asked.

"Aw, fuck!" Blake roared, genuine hurt in his voice. "Goddammit, Harry!" He raised the rifle, but couldn't aim around Janine.

"You could've just taken me to the damn train station, Blake!" Harry replied furiously.

The AEG truck rocked to a sudden halt right in front of the chapel, and an alarm began howling from the speakers on the roof.

"It's over. You have no wand," Janine said, her voice oozing liquid pleasure as she was proven right. "I knew you couldn't do it. You're a terrible liar."

Harry rose to his feet, staring down into her eyes. The back of the AEG truck opened, and boots hit the road as men began disembarking.

"You want to see me make fire, then? Is that what you want?"

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty entered Janine's eyes.

"You get your wish!" Harry stared straight at the fuel port on the armoured truck, which was protected from bullets and bombs, but not from a simple spark appearing directly inside the petrol tank. The gas and liquid ignited instantly, and the pressurised compartment exploded with enough force to knock the truck over. Men in black tactical suits were flattened by the force, and even Janine and Blake stumbled a bit.

But Harry was already moving.

As soon as the truck exploded, he'd thrown Blake's rifle away with another Levitation Charm, and then bolted for the chapel front door.

He pounded down the aisle as shouts and car alarms screeched outside. He snatched up his rucksack and umbrella and bolted for the back of the house to buy a few seconds.

Where should he go? Where _could_ he go?

Harry almost considered going back to Hogwarts, but the thought of Apparating into another trap stopped him. But that wasn't the only reason. He couldn't go back – he couldn't see the looks on his friend's faces as he explained how he'd failed. They might say they understood, they might remind him that he was only human, but in the end, he was always supposed to be more than that. He was their symbol during the war and their saviour after, and a bastion of comfort for many even as the world fell apart around them.

He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

Harry gripped the umbrella with both hands. He could Apparate without a wand, but even the little focus granted by the hidden Elder Wand was helpful.

Orders and heavy combat boots thumped through the chapel and around the sides of the building. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and Disapparated.

Only one place came to mind.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a room that he had outgrown long ago. It had been converted into a study, complete with bookshelves and an expensive-looking computer. Every inch of it was meticulously cleaned to the extent that he suspected even the light bulb had been polished.

The pain of being forced to sprint began to register as his adrenaline died down. He let his rucksack fall to the floor where it landed on a rug with a mute _thump_.

Harry limped over to an armchair beside the window, and looked out over Privet Drive.

* * *

 **Up next: That Old Familiar Hell**

 **To be clear, Harry is one of the last remaining heavy-hitters in the magical world. He's got power, knowledge, and experience. But without magic, he's just a semi-fit 21 year old.**

 **Also, I feel the need to mention early on that this story will go to some dark, uncomfortable places in the future. There are some pretty awful things happening in this world. It will be rough, but it will also be real. I'm not going to mollycoddle you _or_ try to shock you.**


	4. That Old Familiar Hell

**Chapter 4: That Old Familiar Hell**

The Dursley's weren't home. From the looks of things, they hadn't been home in a while.

While the house was as clean as ever, there were clothes in only one of the wardrobes, and they were all things a young woman like Ginny might wear, not his Aunt Petunia.

Had they sold the house? Were they renting it out? Harry looked for clues, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing too unusual about the house. It was as though The Dursleys had just packed everything essential and left.

But if they were gone, who was living here now?

Harry wandered through the house, peeking out windows carefully to look for signs of danger. He watched the street and surrounding houses for over an hour before finally accepting he hadn't been tracked.

With no sign of the current occupant, Harry took a risk and availed himself of the upstairs facilities, having a hasty shower to scrub away the sweat of the events at the chapel.

He didn't feel any real anger towards Blake, as the man had seemed content to mind his own business for the most part. Janine, however, sent a surge of anger through his nerves every time he remembered her face.

 _And to think if I knew the basics of starting a fire, I'd be on a train to London right now._

Harry smacked his head with his hand as he stepped out of the shower.

"I'm an idiot," he said aloud. "This is Surrey. London's only an hour away."

As he dressed, several problems presented themselves.

One, he now _needed_ a change of clothes, since Blake and Janine were certainly going to describe him to the AEG men.

Two, they would also likely tell the AEG men that his destination had been London.

Three, he wasn't alone in the room.

A woman with straight black hair watched him with bloodshot eyes. She was short, and had a pug nose that, at any other time, in any other place, he would have considered cute. Her slender frame wasn't very intimidating, but the shotgun held to her shoulder certainly made up for it.

Harry froze in the act of buckling his jeans, feeling like a deer caught in a pump-action headlight.

She didn't speak. The barrel of the gun trembled slightly.

He licked his dry lips and remained completely still. "What do I have to do to stay alive?" he asked, speaking very slowly.

She flinched at his voice, and the gun shook a bit more. Harry fought the urge to flinch, fearing that any movement might make her pull the trigger.

"I thought the house was empty," he lied. "I was a friend of the Dursleys. The people who lived here before."

"How did you get in here?" she said at last. Her voice was croaky as though she hadn't used it in a while.

"They gave me a key," he lied again. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were living here now. Just let me leave and you'll never see me again, I swear."

"Does anyone know you're here?"

A dangerous question.

"I don't think so," Harry said cautiously.

"You don't _think_ so?" she repeated. "Lie down on the floor."

Harry wanted to do no such thing, but he wasn't confident he could snatch her shotgun away with a Levitation Charm without accidentally making her pull the trigger. He lowered himself to the floor, lying on his stomach.

Footsteps crossed the room, and he heard the blinds being pulled aside.

"Risk, risk, always risk," the girl muttered to herself. "Greater risk not to know."

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Stay still! Close your eyes and don't do anything."

Harry did as he was told. With his eyes closed, he couldn't perform targeted wandless magic, but then, he couldn't think of a spell that could get him out of here anyway.

The girl rifled through his things, and then darted into another room for a moment before returning.

"No trucks, no trucks," she said happily. Then she said, " _Legilimens."_

Harry shuddered as a familiar feeling pierced his temples and pressed against his mind. He pushed back more by instinct than technique, and the alien presence retreated.

"You're a witch," he gasped, panting from the sudden intrusion.

"You're a wizard," she replied, her voice equally shocked.

Harry rolled onto his back and sat up. The woman was holding the shotgun in her left hand, pointed at the floor, while her right hand pointed a wand at him.

"Harry Potter," he ventured.

"Oh, god. Everyone thinks you're either dead or at Hogwarts." She finally lowered her wand. "Samantha Brown. I was, um, in Ravenclaw. You probably didn't know me."

"Nice to meet you, Samantha." Harry smiled, and she tentatively returned it. "Are we safe here?"

"That depends – how _did_ you get in here?"

"I Apparated into the spare room from Chepstow. I don't think I was followed."

Relief flooded Samantha's features. "Oh, thank God. If this place gets compromised, I don't know what we'll do."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a lot to explain," she said softly. "Come with me, I don't like talking in any room with a window."

Harry followed her downstairs, and, surprisingly, into the little cupboard under the stairs. They sat beside each other on the tiny bed, and she rested the shotgun against the wall. Harry stared around at some of the dusty old toys that the Dursleys had never gotten around to cleaning out.

"The Muggles have lasers that can hear what you're saying if they point them at the window," explained Samantha once they were inside. "That's how we lost the house in Birmingham."

"We?" asked Harry, getting a little excited.

"You could call us the Arcane Underground, but we don't really have a name. It's better that way – they can spot keywords and form patterns out of them. We're a loose organisation of safehouses spread across the south. Most of them were set up by witches and wizards who lived and worked in the Muggle world – rare, I know, but they were there. They were people who had all their normal Muggle documentation and bank accounts and phones and everything. The best kind of wizard, these days, is one that is utterly indistinguishable from a Muggle."

"Are you one of them?"

Samantha shook her head. "No, I'm just a renter. The guy who owns this place now is one of us though, and he owns a few more properties as well. He rents them out to members of the organisation to give us places to work from."

"So what's the goal? What are you working towards?"

Samantha looked at him weirdly, her head cocked to the side. "Survival," she said.

Over the next hour, Samantha explained how the organisation worked. Harry listened in rapt attention, only interrupting once.

"Wait, you can use the Floo Network?" he repeated excitedly. "I thought the Muggles were snatching people mid-transit."

"We're using many separate networks, created purely to avoid losing the whole system if Muggles find any of our new Floo Powder. I have a bowl of Skittles on my coffee table in front of the fireplace that act as Floo Powder. Different colours take you to different locations. Most safehouses only have one colour, so they can only compromise one location if they're raided. This one is considered one of our safest, so it has several."

"Where can you get to from here? Is there a fireplace in the Ministry?"

"A few other safehouses in the area. The Ministry contacts us, not the other way around. They have regular check-ins every week or so."

"When is the next check-in?" Harry asked intently. "I need to get to the Ministry."

"Has Hogwarts fallen?" Samantha asked softly.

"No. It's stronger than ever, and that's the point. If I can get inside the Ministry, I can boost the wards protecting it."

"Really?"

"Yes. When is the check-in?"

Samantha pulled out her purse and glanced at a ten pound note, squinting at the small writing. "Four days from now, on Saturday."

"Is that . . .?" asked Harry, nodding at the note.

"The Protean Charm?" Samantha smiled tightly. "Somebody at the Ministry had the idea. Apparently, he was inspired by some student organisation at Hogwarts a few years ago."

Harry laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"Hey, why don't you just use a Fidelius Charm to hide this place?" asked Harry, before answering his own question. "The trucks would detect it, wouldn't they?"

"The trucks can't detect the Fidelius Charm, but the AEG has people do number checks every now and then. Basically, a group of volunteers in each street walk up and down, checking the house numbers. A missing house means a missing house number, which means a possible hidden dwelling."

"Bloody hell," he said softly. "Are there any spells they can't figure a way through?"

"Only the most destructive ones. That's why the best way to survive is to hide in plain sight."

Harry mused over what he'd learned. The existence of a resistance movement was excellent, but it sounded as though they were lacking in direction or guidance. Harry supposed he had been as well when he was back at Hogwarts, before Kingsley's letter arrived. It was like the wizards and witches of the world were in a protracted state of shock, incapable of forming new plans, constantly reacting to Muggle atrocities instead of finding solutions and long-term plans.

For God's sake, Hermione's long-term prediction was essentially 'Maybe if we wait long enough, the problem will solve itself.'

Harry couldn't live like that. Not anymore.

"Listen, I know this might be difficult because you need to maintain your cover," he said, "But I need to contact the Ministry. Can I stay here until the next check-in?"

Samantha's eyes glittered with something like excitement. "Of course you can. It's every wizard's duty to do their part for the continuation of the magical line, and if you can protect those at the Ministry, we might have a chance of recovering."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Thousands of witches and wizards have been killed so far, not to mention tolerant Muggles, goblins, centaurs, and other sentient creatures. If the wizarding population is to recover, we'll need to push for higher birth rates, or we'll just fade away."

Harry grimaced at the thought. "Forced breeding doesn't seem like something the survivors will accept," he said.

Samantha stared at him, unblinking. "If they knew they were creating a new generation of wizards and witches that could combat the Muggles, I don't think they would mind. I think some would consider it an honour, especially if their child had a chance of being very powerful."

He didn't respond to that, letting the awkward silence hang in the air.

Thankfully, Samantha soon left the cupboard in order to draw the curtains as the day came to close, which meant Harry could walk around freely. She turned on the TV as he ate some leftover pizza silently.

" _Residents of Chepstow were shocked to discover there was a transient wizard in their midst this morning. A local couple discovered the man's abilities as he was trying to extort a lift to the local train station from them. During the confrontation, the wizard threatened the woman with a knife and destroyed an AEG truck that was responding to his magic. The explosion killed four AEG men and seriously wounded two more. Though reinforcements responded in record time, the wizard has not been found."_

Harry felt his appetite slip away and he dumped the rest of the pizza into the trash. Samantha noticed from her position curled up on the sofa, and pointed a finger at the TV, then at Harry. He nodded and splashed some water on his face from the sink. He felt sick.

He'd known the explosion would be dangerous, but he hadn't intended . . .

He would have died otherwise, they would've shot him and felt no remorse . . .

No matter how many rational justifications he came up with, he couldn't stop his hands shaking.

Samantha was suddenly there, taking his hand and leading him over to the couch. Wordlessly, she pulled him down to rest his head on her lap. She moved her shotgun out of the way so they could both fit on the sofa.

"Don't worry," she whispered, stroking his shoulder comfortingly. "It gets easier."

Harry felt a chill that went right to his bones.

* * *

If Harry's time at the chapel had been weird, his time back at Privet Drive was downright surreal.

Due to the need to maintain Samantha's cover as a regular Muggle homeowner, they could only chat quietly inside the cupboard under the stairs. At all other times, Harry was to remain hidden and silent. It was eerily like living with the Dursley's again, only this time not letting the neighbours know about him was a necessity rather than a fervent desire.

Samantha worked at a local restaurant as a waitress during the week, and as a bartender on the weekend.

"I've worked at both jobs for two years now," she said one evening. "That's good – it gives you a sort of social equity, which makes you less likely to be suspected. And working two jobs makes it believable that I'm able to afford the rent on this place without any housemates."

It also meant that Harry spent most of his time alone in the house with the curtains drawn, quietly wandering from room to room, considering his next step. Sometimes he watched TV with the sound muted, or read the news on the computer.

Or at least, he did until Samantha begged him not to touch the computer, or phone, or any other device in the house.

"If they're watching this house, they're watching it on every level, Harry," she said nervously. "That means if they detect someone using devices inside the house when I'm supposed to be at work, they'll have reason to suspect something's going on."

"I thought you said this was one of the safest safehouses?"

"It's like that because I take so many precautions!" she hissed, her bloodshot eyes wide and afraid. "I need you to _please_ follow the rules while you're here."

Harry raised his hands calmingly, his elbow bumping the side of the cupboard in which they sat. "Alright, I'm sorry. I don't know much about Muggle technology."

After that, she began bringing home guides that looked as though they were designed for the elderly. Harry could hardly believe the things some of the devices claimed to be able to do – mobile phones, the Internet, it was all so _huge_. He wondered if this was how Muggles had first felt when confronted with the magical world.

But it was essential to get a handle on Muggle technology if he hoped to survive, so he read every article and examined Samantha's phone and computer (under her close supervision) in order to learn how to fake being comfortable with the complex devices.

When Samantha gave him a prepaid mobile, Harry had eyed the little flip-phone dubiously.

"Who would I call?" he asked as they sat in the cupboard.

"I've added a few numbers – pizza delivery places, the post office, emergency services, boring things most people have in their phones," she told him. "If you befriend a Muggle, make sure to get their phone number so you can build that social equity I was talking about. Friendless loners who don't use technology are huge red flags for the AEG."

Harry spent a lot of time fiddling with the phone, pretending to call people and trying to look natural while doing so. It felt a little silly, but every bit of authenticity could prove useful.

And, just because he could, he had his host show him an instructional video on the Internet regarding how to make a campfire.

Samantha proved to be an interesting person to live with. She seemed to be very good at pretending to be a Muggle for the most part, and often would follow her routine while at home as though he wasn't even there. Harry supposed she lived her cover story so that it became instinct, and therefore harder to spot as fake.

There were also some . . . odd moments while he was with her.

More than once, he caught her cleaning late at night, wiping every surface, mopping every floor, and digging the dust out of the tiniest nooks and crannies, talking to herself all the while.

"Leave no trace, leave no trace," she sung under her breath, "Leave no trace and you'll be safe."

One day, he'd decided to take a few of the Floo Skittles from the bowl in the living room, just in case he needed to reach another safe-house. This culminated in Samantha showing up in his room late at night, her face stretched tight over her skin, begging him to tell her that he was the reason some of the Skittles were missing.

He confessed, and she explained that she counted the bowl every single night before she went to bed to make sure the house hadn't been compromised. Harry was allowed to keep a single blue Skittle, but the rest returned to the bowl. In the interests of being a good guest, Harry didn't object.

And then there was the fact that she kissed him during one of their cupboard chats.

Harry was faithful, and more than that, he had about a thousand other things on his mind at the moment. So when Samantha awkwardly and stiffly leaned over and pressed her lips against his, he didn't have any idea how to respond.

"Muggle boys flirt with me all the time. I can't bring them back here. I can't go back with them. I don't want to. I can't risk the organisation for my own personal pleasure," Samantha said quietly. "This cupboard can be like a Vanishing Cabinet. What goes on in here doesn't come out."

Harry was incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe in some distant, alternate version of events, he would have been in the right frame of mind to take Samantha up on her offer, but right then he had never felt less aroused in his entire life.

Samantha took the choice away from him, kissing him again. Harry wasn't completely sure why he allowed it, but he suspected it was a combination of the shotgun resting against Samantha's knee and his growing concern that she wasn't completely stable, mentally speaking. He decided to tell Ginny everything as soon as he returned to Hogwarts, but for now he had to focus on not rocking the boat.

Whenever Samantha's hands strayed from his cheeks or arms, Harry firmly pulled them back. He was willing to allow a certain level of indignity by surrendering his lips, but some lines he refused to cross.

Perhaps as payment for his 'cooperation', Samantha brought him some new clothes the next day and helped him dispose of his recognisable stuff.

Two new jackets, one dark red and the other navy blue, some new jeans, faded blue, a couple of plain T-shirts in black and white, and dark combat boots from an army surplus store. When hidden under his pants, they would look like regular boots.

Samantha watched him try them all on under the pretext of making sure they looked alright, but the unpleasant way her eyes followed his movements made his skin feel sticky.

Harry tried to assuage his mounting concern through rationalisation. Samantha was living an extremely stressful lifestyle, and was probably seeking a way to relieve stress. He understood, and empathised, but he couldn't give her what she wanted. It wasn't fair of him to judge her as unstable when she probably hadn't lived in close proximity to anyone in a long time.

Another sticky moment came when they were watching TV in the evening of the third day. The blonde-haired news anchor stared seriously at them as they picked at their Thai takeout dinner.

" _The northern magical stronghold continues to resist AEG efforts to disrupt the magical defences surrounding it, despite recent authorisation to use bombers with greater payloads. AEG Chief James Somber couldn't be reached for comment at this time."_

"You boosted the wards at Hogwarts, didn't you?" Samantha asked quietly.

Harry nodded, unwilling to share the knowledge of the Elder Wand.

"You must be very powerful." Her eyes glittered.

When Harry woke on the fourth day, he did so with a profound sense of relief. Today was the day the Ministry was going to contact Samantha through the secret new Floo Network, and he would finally be able to deliver his news, and, if he was lucky, step straight through into the Ministry atrium.

But that relief was shattered when he realised he couldn't move. His arms and legs were locked in place, feeling but unresponsive. When he tried to yell, his mouth refused to open.

Samantha was curled up against his side. She smiled sunnily at him when she realised he was awake, but with her bloodshot eyes and sleep-tousled hair, she looked frightening.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, sitting up and placing a hand on his chest. They were still in the spare bedroom he'd been using – the same one Dudley had occupied as a kid. The cream walls and ocean carpet were clean and bare, offering nothing for him to work with.

"No, no, it's alright, you're safe," Samantha crooned. "I'm not a traitor, don't worry."

She climbed off the bed and pulled the covers away from him. Harry realised he was naked, and ice water filled his veins.

"If we had a dozen more wizards capable of strengthening wards to the same degree you did, we would be able to retake ground and create new strongholds," Samantha said quietly, but her eyes were wide and feverish. Harry got the distinct feeling she was trying to justify her actions to herself more than him.

She began stripping out of her pyjamas. Her skin was pale and clammy underneath, and her ribs stood out against her skin to an unhealthy degree. It was clear she hadn't been eating well for a long time. Now that he thought about it, Harry hadn't seen her eat more than a few bites at a time.

"It's only practical, don't you see? I will be the first, but I'm sure others will come to the same conclusion. We'll need to raise them in secret, train them well – you can do that, you were good at teaching – and then, when the time comes in twenty years or so, we can lead the counterattack. We'll take back Diagon Alley, and Platform 9¾, and rebuild the whole Floo Network, and finally break free of the Muggles."

Blood thundered in Harry's ears like the rumble of a truck, and his breaths came hard and fast. The thought of being some kind of _breeding_ partner for witches in order to create an army – it was insane! It could never work, even if they survived the next twenty years, and Harry doubted many other witches would be that desperate anyway. But it was clear Samantha wasn't thinking rationally – it was all just an excuse, a flimsy justification for something she personally wanted to do.

And that was terrifying.

He tried to concentrate, to think of a simple wandless spell that would free him from the Body Bind, but he hadn't had time to practice anything more than basic spells. Black tendrils of fear slid around his heart as he considered for the first time that he might not escape.

Samantha finished undressing and straddled his bare hips. She tilted her head slightly as she watched his invisible struggle, then glanced down at his crotch.

"Don't worry," she said, "I have a spell to help with that. You won't have to do anything."

She tapped her wand gently against his skin, and Harry felt himself respond unwillingly to the contact.

Something screeched in the distance, though Harry wasn't sure if it was just part of his brain coming undone from pure shock.

"You were _such_ a hero. I thought about you a lot," she breathed.

Samantha leaned forward to place her hands on his chest, raised her hips, met his wide eyes with her eerily calm, bloodshot gaze, and sat on top of him.

Three loud _thumps_ echoed through the house, followed by a huge, splintering _crack_. Voices shouted from the front and back doors as men forced their way inside.

" _AEG! On the ground, AEG_!"

Harry's eyes darted around the room, his nerves fraying, overcome by the urge to run, to flee the guns and the boots – but he couldn't. He couldn't move at all.

Samantha tensed up in every way. Her face lost all colour and she threw herself off Harry with little regard for his comfort.

She stumbled, naked, to the door of the bedroom, where she could see over the landing and into the living room. Harry watched, struggling against bonds he could never break, as she raised her wand at something out of view.

Her left arm ruptured in an instant, flying off at the bicep, leaving contrails of blood in the air. An accompanying _boom_ rattled the house as she was thrown back into the bedroom from the force of the shot.

" _Witch! Witch! Second floor!"_ roared a voice. Combat boots pounded up the stairs.

Harry threw himself completely into the battle to get free – but the Body Bind was still in place. Samantha was still alive.

He could hear her choking and sobbing in a twisted shape on the floor, her wand gripped in her remaining hand.

"No, no, no," she whimpered. "Oh, no, no, I've killed them. The Skittles . . ."

Harry tried to speak, to get her to set him free, but even if she read his mind at that very moment, the AEG men were charging down the hallway, seconds from killing them both.

"Leave no trace, leave no trace," Samantha cried, her voice raw with agony. "Leave no trace and you'll be safe."

A jet of living flame burst from her wand.

Harry could only watch as it caught the first AEG man in the face, burning through his black helmet and skull as though they were both made of paper. But the fire didn't stop – it grew larger, twisting hungrily as it consumed the rest of the corpse and part of the drywall.

" _Fiendfyre!"_ shrieked a man's voice from below. A chorus of panicked screams followed the announcement, some of which were cut short as the sentient flame ripped through the landing and began burning anything in its path.

Harry realised he could move, and saw Samantha lying curled up on her side, wand outstretched, still smoking from her last spell. She was dead.

The house shook on its very foundations, and terrified cries filled the air from neighbouring houses. Whatever the Fiendfyre was doing, it was growing quickly.

Harry barely had time to put thought into action. He didn't bother dressing, instead stuffing all of his new clothes into his rucksack and snatching up the umbrella.

Orange light flowed in through the door and window now, and an odd, deep roaring sound pounded against his eardrums.

It felt like Hell itself had been unleashed on Privet Drive.

Harry stared at Samantha's body for a second before snatching up her wand.

The floor beneath his feet began to feel brittle, and as he Apparated, he felt it give way beneath him.

There was no time to weigh each possible destination against each other. Harry moved through the suffocating darkness and emerged into an empty café – the same one he, Ron, and Hermione had fled to after Bill and Fleur's wedding, so many years ago.

Harry stood, naked, shaking, and covered in soot, but no alarms howled, no gunshots broke the silence.

The shutters were closed and the lights were off, but Harry dressed quickly in the darkness, feeling exposed, his body still producing adrenaline for a situation that was now behind him.

He couldn't hate Samantha for what she'd tried to do, even though he knew he should. At one point, she had probably been an ordinary, intelligent young woman, with clear eyes and a smile that was full of warmth, instead of something else.

The Muggles had torn away that part of her, forced her to become something that deteriorated her mental and physical health. She'd lived a lie, worked among the people who celebrated the slaughter of her own kind. Nobody could do that for years and come out of it still thinking like a normal person.

Harry had been scared of her, and he was glad to have escaped before she took anything else from him, but seeing her die so horribly had robbed him of any sense of justice.

There was no silver lining that he could see, no upside or positive spin to put on what had happened.

There was only the sickening realisation that the Muggles weren't the only ones who had lost sight of their humanity.

* * *

 **We've seen a bit of what it's like for Muggles at the moment, and now we've seen a glimpse of wizard life under persecution. I set out to make the war fairly realistic in the sense that there are many parties using the conflict for their own goals, and manipulation of the public perception comes as easily to all of them as breathing. This mire is only going to get thicker.**

 **Up next: Displacement Activity**


	5. Displacement Activity

**Chapter 5: Displacement Activity**

Harry pulled on his new jeans, socks, and combat boots, followed by a black T-shirt and navy blue jacket. He felt filthy underneath it all, where soot and sweat still stuck to his skin, but there was nowhere to wash inside the café.

The café was closed, but it was early on a Saturday, and chances were it was going to open for breakfast soon. He couldn't stay.

If he remembered correctly, the café was right in the middle of London, which meant he was closer to the Ministry than he had been so far on his journey. It was hard to believe less than a month ago he'd been back at Hogwarts, sleeping in his quarters next to Ginny and having breakfast with his friends in the Great Hall.

Maybe his student, Rose Zeller, had been right. Hogwarts was a lot more fun than it seemed, now that he was far away from it.

Harry scrubbed his face clean as best he could, using water from a tap in the kitchen and the shiny side of a pan as a mirror. The back door could be unlocked from the inside, thankfully, and Harry slipped out and closed it gently behind him. Unlocking Charms were simple enough to do wandlessly, but considering a simple Arousal Charm had been enough for an AEG truck to pinpoint and raid Number Four Privet Drive, he didn't want to take any chances.

The little side-street was empty except for puddles and dumpsters, so Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out onto the street, trying to appear normal. Samantha's wand was in his rucksack now – it was too dangerous to keep it in his pocket where someone might recognise the outline.

Tottenham Court Road had less traffic for the time of day compared to a weekday, but there were still plenty of people out and about. Harry focused on his breathing and slowed his nervously-quickening pace. Nothing attracted attention more than running. He passed by Muggles, most of which ignored him. Some, he exchanged polite nods with, but nobody stopped to chat.

Stores were opening, and Harry followed an old man's example of ducking into a newsagent and purchasing the day's newspaper.

"We're a dying breed, mate," said the old man as Harry paid for his purchase.

Harry cocked his head, his mouth going dry. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Nobody reads newspapers anymore. It's their computers they go to for news these days." The man shook his head and wandered off.

A little shaken, and annoyed that he had been so easily shaken, Harry tucked the paper under his arm and decided to pretend he was just a regular Muggle living in London.

A small café, out of the way but in better condition than the one he'd just vacated, was taking its first customers, and Harry joined them. It felt surreal after the events of the previous hour and a half to be sitting at a little table ordering poached eggs.

The waitress smiled at him when she delivered his meal. She had straight dark hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and her high cheekbones made her look like royalty despite the setting. He smiled back as best he could with the remains of adrenaline in his bloodstream.

Harry nodded at the TV mounted above the counter. "Do you think I could catch the morning news?" he asked. The paper would be useful, but it wouldn't show the results of what happened in Privet Drive.

The waitress gave an exaggerated sigh like she was put-out by his request, her eyes sparkling, and reached up to turn on the TV. Harry nodded his thanks, his eyes already scanning the headlines.

" _Breaking news, a serious magical attack is taking place in Surrey, centred on Privet Drive,"_ said the blonde presenter. _"It appears some sort of magical fire is sweeping through the area, and despite the efforts of the local fire department, there seems to be no sign of it slowing down. AEG Chief James Somber made a hasty statement only minutes ago."_

The video cut to an impromptu mobile press conference. James Somber, a dispassionate-looking man with short black hair, was walking to a waiting car with his staff, followed closely by early-bird reporters.

" _We are familiar with this form of magic, and AEG personnel are already evacuating the surrounding area,"_ said Somber. His voice was deep and smooth, completely calm despite the ongoing disaster. _"This spell in particular is considered extraordinarily dangerous even by magic users themselves, and we believe it may have been used in this case as a desperate attempt to destroy evidence of an important magical safe-house. An AEG patrol detected magic as they were going down Privet Drive, but we lost contact with them soon after."_

As Somber and his people boarded their motorcade, the camera switched to a helicopter's point of view, and the presenter's voice overlapped the sound of distant roaring flames.

" _As you can see, the magical fire has taken the form of a d-dragon, and . . . oh my god . . ."_

Several people in the café gasped as the fiery dragon simply blasted straight through an entire house. Harry had never seen Fiendfyre allowed to grow that large. It had limits, like all magic, but it was sentient and reaching its full power, which made it dangerous beyond words.

As he watched, a fire department helicopter dumped a huge amount of water over it, but the entire load evaporated before it even came close. Fire trucks couldn't dare come close enough to spray directly at the Fiendfyre, so they were watering down everything they could reach in an attempt to deny the flames any more fuel.

"Oh, Jesus," whimpered the waitress. Tears were rolling down her smooth caramel cheeks.

Harry stood up and touched her shoulder on reflex, and she surprised him by burying her face in his shoulder.

"God, I-I think I'm going to be sick," she said, swallowing repeatedly.

The other patrons made room as Harry led her into the customer bathroom and over to a sink. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Harry turned on one of the taps, wet his hand, then wiped the waitress's cheeks and dampened her forehead. She began taking big, shaking breaths and closed her eyes. Her arms shook as she leaned on the sink, and Harry was ready to pull his hands back at any moment if she began to retch.

"How could someone do that?" she asked, her voice raw. "Why would they kill so many people and burn all those homes?"

Harry knew the truth wasn't relevant at that moment. "I don't know," he said gently. "But it'll be okay."

Maybe it was wrong to comfort her. Maybe it was a brilliant way of looking like a regular Muggle. Harry wasn't sure. He didn't think this girl had ever killed a wizard, or gloried in their deaths. She looked like she was around eighteen or nineteen years old, fresh out of high school, probably wondering whether she should go to university.

After a few minutes, her breathing began to steady, and colour slowly returned to her cheeks. She cupped her hands and drank a few mouthfuls from the tap before turning it off and drying her hands and face with paper towel. Harry stood by the entire time, watching carefully for signs she might faint.

Another woman, this one middle-aged and wearing an apron, popped her head into the bathroom.

"You alright Charlotte?" she asked the waitress, eyeing Harry in a way that was probably supposed to be discrete.

'Charlotte' nodded and touched Harry's arm lightly. "I'm alright. He's alright."

The new woman nodded. "You've been working yourself ragged, love. Take today and tomorrow off and try to relax a bit, will you?"

Charlotte nodded mutely and began fixing her makeup in the mirror. Her eye shadow had been smudged by Harry when he touched her face, and her lipstick was a bit messy from the way she'd been chewing her lip.

The new woman, who Harry presumed was the owner, pulled Harry out of the bathroom. She had a nametag pinned to her breast that said 'April'.

"Are you a friend of Charlotte's?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "She thought she was going to be sick, so I led her in there."

April's eyes flitted over his face for a second or two. "You seem decent enough. If she's okay with it, will you make sure she gets home alright?"

"Er, alright," said Harry, rubbing the back of his head.

Charlotte emerged from the bathroom looking almost the same as she had before seeing the news report. Harry was always amazed by the way women did that. The only difference was that her eyes had lost their sparkle.

"Um," said Harry, "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Charlotte's cheeks went red and she narrowed her eyes at April. "I don't need you roping in customers to look after me, alright? I was just . . . shocked."

"I know, dear," April replied remorselessly, meeting the younger woman's stare. She reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley somewhat.

After a second, Charlotte folded her arms and looked away. "Only if you don't have anywhere to be, um . . .?"

"Harry," he said, holding out a hand. She took it.

"Charlotte," she replied. "And really, if you have a job to get to, I'll be perfectly fine getting home on my own."

April's gaze shifted to Harry, and he quickly shook his head. "I could probably use some fresh air anyway," he said lightly.

April nodded and returned behind the counter to serve the growing line of customers, most of which were still staring at the TV.

The Fiendfyre was still rampaging through an increasingly desolate Privet Drive. A plane flew past, dropping water as it went. Boiling steam gushed into the wreckages of a dozen houses, engulfing a number of AEG men. Their screams were audible even from the helicopter's height. The camera quickly panned away.

Charlotte pointedly ignored the TV as she strode across the shop and out into the street. Harry followed her, and they began walking side by side down the footpath. The Saturday morning had well and truly begun, and people were out enjoying the sights. Phones rang, people talked excitedly about the latest events, and Harry tried to pretend he hadn't indirectly caused the deaths of who-knows how many people.

 _Samantha cast the spell. I had no way of knowing what would happen,_ he reminded himself.

It didn't help.

"So do you live nearby?" he asked to distract himself.

"Yeah, only a couple of blocks," Charlotte replied quietly, her voice distant.

Harry supposed he wasn't the only one who needed distracting. "How long have you worked at the café?"

"Three years." She took a deep breath and seemed to collect herself. "Listen, I know April bullied you into walking me home, but you don't have to. I'll call her when I get there and tell her you did."

"If you don't want me to walk with you, that's fine. I understand. Trusting strangers is probably not the smartest thing to do these days." Harry raised his hands calmingly. "But you seemed pretty shaken up, and I'd feel better if I could make sure you got home alright."

Charlotte's dark eyes filled with water, and Harry thought he'd screwed up.

"Sorry," she said, breathing a laugh as she wiped her eyes. "God, it's all so messed up, isn't it? A hundred years ago, you'd be considered a gentleman." She shook her head. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry had a strong stomach, but hearing the hollowness in Charlotte's voice when she talked about the past made him sick.

He stuck out his elbow and stood up straight as he walked, like a gentleman should. Charlotte looked at him, blinked, then slipped her arm through his with the ghost of a chuckle. It would have to do.

Charlotte lived in a cramped apartment a couple of blocks away. Harry had been planning to leave her at the door, but she ushered him inside before he could refuse. He sat on a small, squashy sofa while Charlotte got changed in her bedroom, which, aside from the bathroom, was the only other room in the apartment. Thin violet curtains hung over the windows, and Christmas lights were taped along the picture rails, twinkling softly.

Charlotte emerged from her bedroom barefoot, her hair loose, dressed in running shorts and a grey sweater. She had her mobile to her ear. "April, I'm fine. It just took me off-guard," she was saying. "Trust me, I'm not even going to turn on the TV for the rest of the weekend."

Harry pretended to fiddle with his rucksack, which was on the floor beside the couch. His umbrella was still attached to the side, and he could feel Samantha's wand within.

"Alright, see you on Monday." Charlotte tapped her phone and tossed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She sighed as she sat down, and Harry put an arm around her without really thinking about it.

He knew it wasn't right, but if he was honest, he was pretty shaken up by recent events as well. Feeling Charlotte's warm body against his was reassuring on a basic, primal level. She seemed to understand.

Somehow, the day slipped away from them, and Harry woke from a doze to realise the temperature had dropped significantly. Charlotte was shivering against him in her sleep. The light outside had been replaced by crisp darkness, and only the gentle blue and white Christmas lights provided any illumination.

Harry rose, gently transferring Charlotte to a couple of cushions. He got the fire going with some matches and a piece of charcoal, and heat slowly returned to the room. As he crouched in front of the crackling flames, Charlotte sleepily sat up, pulling her bare legs off the floor to curl up.

"Oh," she said sheepishly. "I hope you really didn't have a job to get to."

Harry smiled back at her. "This was more important," he replied.

"Yeah, but I kinda kidnapped you," she chuckled.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Only if you want to. Otherwise . . . are you as hungry as I am?"

Harry had felt hunger gnawing at him since he woke up, but only now that she drew attention to the fact did he realise how long it had been since his last meal.

 _I had dinner with Samantha yesterday, right before everything went wrong._

"I didn't even get my poached eggs this morning," he whined lightheartedly.

Charlotte gave a throaty chuckle, her head cocked as she stared at him. He liked the way the dim, shifting lights accentuated her caramel skin. Her running shorts had ridden up during their sleep, revealing the slightly paler skin of her upper thigh.

"Let's go find someplace to eat, then," she said, hopping off the sofa and retreating once more to her bedroom for more suitable clothes.

Harry glanced at his mobile. It was 9PM, which shocked him a bit.

 _I must have really needed that sleep._

They left the apartment and joined the nightlife of London. Charlotte now wore more sensible pants, as well as a beanie that covered her ears. Harry just had his regular jacket and jeans, but he didn't mind. He had left his rucksack in Charlotte's apartment, and they had both pretended not to notice the implications of doing so.

Harry was faithful, but he was no longer confident that his decision-making skills were synchronised with his rational mind. After all, if he was thinking straight, wouldn't he have immediately used the blue Skittle he'd taken from Samantha's house in order to get in contact with another member of the Arcane Underground?

Instead, he was traipsing around night clubs and food stands with a girl who was likely several years his junior, if still an adult. Harry went with her to places that blazed with light and colour, listened to music that he couldn't stand, and drank things that he'd never tried before. Neither he nor Charlotte took the lead, they just seemed to push each other onwards with their mere presence, and for some reason they both let themselves be pushed.

They ended up in Richmond Park, stumbling through the mist as the horizon turned orange. The air was brisk, but alcohol and body heat kept them going.

"God," Charlotte whispered, pulling Harry down to the dewy grass. "I haven't cut loose like this since graduation."

Harry pressed himself against her, and she pressed back just as hard. Their hands wandered. They had been for a while.

"I think my mum had the same method of coping with bad stuff happening," she slurred. "I used to think she was stupid for not dealing with it straight up. Guess I'm a hypocrite."

Harry didn't answer. He could feel her warm skin under his fingers, and the capacity for rational though had left his head hours ago.

"God," Charlotte repeated, her eyes watering. "All those people. What could they do against that? Just out of nowhere . . ."

Harry hugged her close, but his hunger hadn't abated. He barely had enough restraint to keep himself from pulling her jeans down right then and there.

"It'll be okay," he said, his voice a shade huskier than usual.

He touched her neck, and she made a noise that sounded half-sob, half-moan.

"Got you, fucker," said a voice behind him.

Charlotte screamed and stared over his shoulder. Harry turned to see a police officer standing over them, a baton in one hand. There was a click, and a flashlight suddenly blazed in the officer's other hand.

"Stay where you are," barked the officer. "Ma'am, please move away from him. I'll get help for you in a moment."

Charlotte didn't move, one arm raised to shield her eyes against the sudden light. "What?" she breathed.

"You're not the first rapist to drag a girl out here," snarled the cop. "Thought it would be out of the way, did you? Thought you could have your fun and leave the girl out here alone?"

"I'm not a rapist," Harry growled. His blood was still hot, but now it was turning towards anger rather than lust.

"So I just happen to find you holding down a crying girl, but you're really just a good guy?"

Harry wished Charlotte would speak up and defend him, but the girl was blinking blearily in the light, confusion painted across her features.

"Ma'am, please move away from him. I'll have a female officer talk to you once the situation is under control."

Charlotte clumsily crawled a few metres away.

"What did we do?" she slurred.

A touch of uncertainty entered the officer's expression.

"Ma'am, was this man forcing you to do anything you didn't want to do?" he said, flicking the flashlight between them.

Charlotte looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned away and vomited.

The officer made a face and turned back to Harry. He froze.

"Raise your fringe," he snapped.

Harry, surprised, obeyed at once.

The officer dropped his baton on the grass and immediately drew his sidearm.

Without thinking, Harry flicked it away with a wandless Levitation Charm. It was difficult to summon the focus through the booze, but the adrenaline had sobered him somewhat.

Unexpectedly, the officer turned and ran, grabbing at his radio as the flashlight lit the path in front of him. Harry tripped him up with another Levitation Charm, sending both the radio and flashlight flying.

It was pure luck that any of the spells were working at all, let along hitting their intended targets.

 _I suppose a lifetime of experience functioning under pressure has its benefits._

Harry dragged himself to his feet and seized the fallen firearm, training it on the officer as he tried to crawl away.

"Stop," Harry said.

The officer stopped, rolling onto his back to look up at Harry. It was impossible to make out his features in the darkness.

"Harry Potter," the officer spat. "What are you going to do, you sick fucking freak? Wipe my memory? Make me do whatever you say? You're a goddamn monster."

"How do you know that name?" Harry asked. The insults washed over him easily; he'd grown up in the Dursley household, after all.

"Go fuck yourself."

Harry weighed his options. Without a wand, there was no way he could wipe the officer's memories. A wandless Stunning Spell was also beyond Harry's skill level.

A wandless Body-Bind, however, was not.

Harry laid the Bind on the officer as strongly as possible, which was much weaker than he could do with a wand, but was the best of a bad situation.

He was relying on a few assumptions to get him through the night alive:

One, that the officer didn't get a good look at Charlotte and wouldn't immediately be able to pick her out of a city of millions.

Two, that Charlotte was still out of it enough not to notice what he was doing.

And three, that there were no AEG trucks in the immediate vicinity.

The Body-Bind in place, Harry tucked the gun away under his jacket and went to collect Charlotte. His second assumption seemed to be holding true, as the girl seemed to be completely focused on bring up everything she had drank that night. He helped her to her feet during a lull, and they staggered out of the park together and back to the main road.

They caught a cab back to Charlotte's apartment, and during the ride Charlotte went from sick to grouchy. She groaned at every slight movement and shielded her eyes from passing streetlights.

Dawn had arrived by the time Harry laid her down on her couch (with a basin beside her head) and got the fire going to chase away the chill of the night. He kept the TV on the whole time to watch for news, muted so it wouldn't wake her. He sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch, and around an hour after getting back, he dozed off with his head on Charlotte's leg.

When he awoke, Charlotte's leg had shifted slightly and Harry had a crick in his neck.

The memory of the previous night replayed in his mind, and he groaned softly, putting his head in his hands. He'd been stupid. Really, really stupid, and in the wake of such stupidity his refreshed mind was left to pick up the pieces.

"I saw what you did," Charlotte whispered from behind him.

Harry turned slowly, but there was no gun, no knife in her hands. She just stared at him. He said nothing.

"The cop. I saw you stop him when he went for his gun. It was dark, but I'm sure you weren't close enough to knock it out of his hands," Charlotte continued.

Harry nodded, looking away. He didn't want to see the same expression of disgust he'd noticed on other Muggles when they spoke about magical folk.

"Yeah," he said, his throat dry and raw. "I didn't want to die."

Charlotte was quiet for a long moment. In the silence, Harry noticed he had accidentally unmuted the TV with his elbow at some point, and the soft hum of news anchors talking filled the room like white noise.

" _At approximately four-thirty in the morning, a police officer was attacked while trying to rescue a woman from a magical rapist in Richmond Park."_

Harry stared at the TV, his stomach already sinking.

" _The officer in question was conducting a usual patrol of the area that usually yields no more than a few fines for loitering. But last night it was the key to finding one of the biggest targets that the Antimagic Enforcement Group has been searching for._

" _Harry Potter, a 21 year old wizard, is apparently considered some sort of saviour by the magical population, and as such his capture and execution would be a devastating blow against their morale. Last night, he was discovered attempting to rape a young woman in Richmond Park, and when interrupted, lashed out in a violent frenzy, attacking the brave police officer who went to investigate._

" _AEG Chief James Somber said that Potter's actions were those of an unstable, violent terrorist, and that if members of the public encounter him, they should not approach and should instead call the AEG hotline immediately. Somber also said there is reason to believe that the magical fire responsible for over seventy deaths yesterday is linked to Potter."_

"Harry," Charlotte said, her voice trembling as she drew her legs up to her chest. "Please tell me you weren't involved in the fire."

Harry looked at her for another long moment. "I didn't cause it, but I was there. I didn't know it was going to happen."

"It was an accident?"

"No. The witch who cast it was mentally unstable. She cracked under the pressure of living in hiding, and when the AEG burst in, I guess she panicked and went to the strongest spell she knew. I barely got out of there alive."

That wasn't the whole truth, but Harry's rational thinking had sheepishly returned after a night off, and he decided there was nothing to be gained by telling Charlotte about the Floo Skittles and how Samantha, in her last, desperate moments, sought to destroy any connection to the other safehouses.

Charlotte sniffed. She was shaking and hunched over her folded arms. Defensive. Scared. Harry made absolutely no moves towards her, but didn't let her out of his sight.

"I promise you I had no way of preventing the fire," he said softly. "I'm just a guy trying to stay alive."

"So what are you going to do now?"

Harry shrugged. "Keep running, I suppose. It's a shame. For a few hours there, I was almost happy."

Charlotte shivered. "Me too."


End file.
